Well Schooled in Murder
by Absolute Jackass
Summary: If your looking for pride.......ya won't find it here.
1. I try not to masturbate in public

**Authors Note: **I can't believe i'm continuing this thing. I have an empty head...full of ideas i'd like to call "Nothing"..

**Spence: **Actually, An empty head is not really empty; it is stuffed with rubbish. Hence the difficulty of forcing anything into an empty head.

**A/N**: Whatever, man. It's all about brains with you. Anyway, Thanks for the people who read and reviewed those crappy little story idea thingys I did. Glad ya liked it. Please Review or I will have my scary, sharp-tounged character go after you! lol, Sorry, I'm being dopey because I'm high on coke. Plus, i'm watching Viva La Bam with my friends, so that's no good. Anyway, Once again, I say:

"Read, review 'cos i'm spending a year dead for tax reasons."

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**ONE**

The steak he had ordered came with an egg and fries and a complicated mixture of some sort of vegetable he didn't want to know about. That was soon followed by two cups of strong black coffee and a wink from the lovely young waitress.

The diner was small, but bright, clean and cozy. Brand-new, narrow, with a long lunch counter on one side and a kitchen bumped out back. Booths lining up on the opposite wall and a doorway where the center booth would be. Angelo sat in a booth at a window, reading a newspaper as he ate his food. It was dead-on three o'clock in the afternoon and he was he eating his breakfast. Not lunch. Late Breakfast, as he would call it.

The bell on top of the front door rang and a man stepped in through the door. Angelo knew exactly who was in the diner. A cook in the back. Two waitresses, one sleeping in the booth behind him, her head leaning back onto his, making him incredibly uncomfortable. Two old men playing chess, five girls. And then, it was him and the man who had entered.

Angelo folded the newspaper and put it aside. He picked at his food with the fork for a brief moment before cramming egg into his mouth. He waited. The man was looking around the diner. Without much interest, Angelo looked up. Their eyes locked for a brief second before he looked back down to his breakfast. The man walked towards the lunch counter.

All eyes were on the man for just a minute, before everyone resumed doing whatever it was they did. Whether it was about chess, food orders, or about hot guys. Laura, the lovely waitress who had served Angelo earlier, walked towards the man who went into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. The guy looked somewhere around his fifties, medium height, definitely bulky.

Angelo saw the man open it with a practiced flick and show the waitress. Laura came up with a beer from a chest of ice. The man admired the bottle for a moment then took a long pull. The next time Angelo looked up, the man was scanning the room. Oddly enough, he smiled warmly at Angelo as if he had just seen an old college friend.

"May I sit?" the man asked him as he walked over. Angelo shrugged, "Sure." he said simply, looking at the seat opposite to him before continuing to eat his very late breakfast. The guy sat heavily, sighing with satisfaction as he overwhelmed the chair. "Are you Mr. D'Angelo Spencer?" he asked across the table. Angelo merely flinched at the name, as if it was very unfamiliar.

Angelo matched the man's earlier pull with a long drink of steaming hot coffee. He paused and realized how hot it was before spitting it back in there. The man watched him with intent eyes. Out of all the people looking for him, half of them were guys who want him dead and the other half were girls, either offended, or turned on. Angelo wondered if he knew anyone he has recently pissed off. Nothing came up. Who was this guy? "D'Angelo Spencer?" the old man repeated. Angelo put the mug down and then reached behind him, grabbing the plastic bottle of water from the sleeping waitress who snored in reply.

He drank some water, the coolness of it rushing down his throat, making him feel much better. He glanced across at the man through the clear water in his bottle. His eyes said so much and yet, so less. For one thing, Angelo had easily figured that this man was here for business…that he wouldn't let emotions go in the way of it. Much like the man he used to be.

Not long ago, he was in a group of vampire hunters. The Nightstalkers. This has all started that one little night on his son's birthday. That one little night he didn't attend, which led to that one little morning at the morgue with his wife. His dead wife. The vampires wasted no time and came after him. Which led to the meeting with Caulder and his merry little gang. Ever since Sommerfield, Hedges and Dex died, he had worked with Hannibal, Abigail and Kasumi. And that old, black, American woman who kept assuming he was her son.

"Are you D'Angelo Spencer?" the man asked for the third time, there was no sign of irritation. Only determination. Angelo set the plastic water back on the waitress' hand and shook his head at the man. "No." he lied. "I'm not." The man's shoulders slumped a fraction in disappointment. "Oh."

"Who wants to know?" Angelo pressed on, blowing on the hot coffee while trying not to making any eye-contact. The man smiled and nodded, his hand just about to reach out for a handshake. "Jean-Claude Hardway." he said. Angelo was oblivious to the hand and raised his mug a fraction in response before sipping. Hardway slowly lowered his hand and cleared his throat to ease the tension. "Well, it's very nice to meet you missstterrr….?"

"Raymond…" Angelo said, telling him the name everyone referred to him as. "…Hunter." The man nodded, also raising his beer bottle a fraction. "Nice to meet you Ray-ray." he chuckled at his own little 'joke', which was very pathetic. Angelo watched the man with a weird look on his face. Taking the hint, Hardway slowly stopped laughing and cleared his throat. "So, Ray-ray…"

"Ray." Angelo said. "Just call me Ray. I mean, it's very nice and nicknamey but it takes time to get used to." Hardway nodded, "So, Ray. You know a D'Angelo Spencer around here?" he asked. Angelo shrugged, looking at the window into the shimmering heat. "Nope." he finally answered, looking back. "Not that I remember, no. You have a description"  
Hardway set down the bottle of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Not really. They say he comes down here every 3 o'clock to eat." he said. "Big guy, foul mouth, attractive."

"Should I feel flattered that you came to me?" Angelo said, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the old men playing chess. One of them fast asleep snoring while the other one stared down at the board, pondering about his next move. "I mean. These are very close candidates to who your looking for." Hardway barked out a laugh, "I like you. You're a good kid."

Angelo shrugged again. "I try not to masturbate in public"  
Hardway continued laughing, he drank more beer to drain out the laughter before it got too freaky that it would actually scare away customers. "Only five minutes and it feels like I know you too much." "Yeah. Me too." Angelo replied grimly. "So, why are you looking for this guy? Is he a relative of yours?" He paused as if not interested. Trying not to sound 'suspicious'.

"Nope. I'm a private detective." Hardway said. "I got asked to find him"  
"Oh yeah? What'd he do?" Angelo asked. Hardway thought for a moment then shook his head, shrugging as he looked out the window. He seemed interested in a particular black truck. "Nothin'. He's clear." he turned back to Angelo, smiling. "I asked everyone who he was but nobody knew…they say he drives around this big black truck."

They lapsed into silence, Hardway looked hard at Angelo, like he was issuing a direct challenge. Angelo drank a gulp of warm coffee and set it down on the table. "Lots of big black trucks. Half the people here have those. He mighta rented it or something." "A rent?" Hardway asked, confused. "They say it's too old and dangerous to be a rent"  
"Things people will do for money." Angelo murmured behind his sleeve as he wiped his mouth. Hardway nodded as if he understood. "Yeah." The plate that had steak, eggs, and ugly-looking vegetable mixture was now empty, declaring that he had finished his breakfast. He pulled the plate of fries toward him while glancing at his watch.

"But I'll let you know if I find anything out." Angelo lied. Hardway nodded. "I'd appreciate it," he said ambiguously. Angelo dipped a fry into some ketchup and ate it, looking down at the table, thinking. "Who wants him?" "A client of mine." Hardway paused, searching every nook and cranny of his brain for one name. "This lady called Mrs. Skyler."

Hardway searched for some sort of reaction but none came. The name meant nothing but just a name to Angelo. Skyler? Never heard of a woman by the name. "Anyway." Hardway said, "What do you do for a job?" immediately, he continued before Angelo could say anything. "I mean, not to be nosy or anything. It's just that…you know…" Hardway looked around the room, the girls were giggling, glancing over their shoulders at Angelo who was looking down as he ate. "Well…"

Hardway looked around again, this time to the two old men, both asleep. Laura walked over to them, lifted their heads, wiped the table then let their heads crash onto the table. Still asleep. Hardway turned back to Angelo, "…I'm scared to talk to anyone else"  
Spence nodded in an understanding way but he showed no hint of interest in this conversation. "I drive a tow-truck."

Hardway seemed to laugh. "Well, I bet you my life that women will be glad you towed away their cars!" Angelo laughed along with him, but not as enthusiastic. "…I guess so"  
"Yeah, well. No way in hell your really Spencer. I heard he was a doctor. No doctor would have a job as Hardway continued to smile at Angelo, in a way that made him uncomfortable. The fact is, by now he would have at least shouted or said one witty comment but no…he did that back when he cared.

Now, he didn't . He is living in the crowd like a normal person. A very invisible person. And it was great…just great. "I have to go…" Angelo finally said, he eased his body up out from his seat and pulled a crumpled roll from his pants pocket. He dropped some on the table and looked at Hardway, "I'll see you around Mr. Hardway"  
"Please." Hardway replied. "Call me Jean"  
"Jean." Angelo nodded. "Nice meeting you, Jean." he said before heading out the door.

Jean-Claude Hardway drained the last of his beer and watched him go, smiling. "I'll see you around… Mr. Spencer."


	2. No security sucks!

**Authors Note:** Okay. Don't be suprised if this is like, ya know, boring. God help me, I need a brain.  
This is his so-called "normal life." So don't expect sudden explosions. You see, let's get one thing straight:  
I absoloutley fucking love Knoxville (Johnny, not the place) and Ryan. Ahhh, this is the reason why I'm using him as Spencer, hmm? Ya get? Okay, no...I'm gonna do what WHATtF did, okay? Ok. Click my profile, there will be links to pictures of the characters (Actors and actressess, okay?) OK? If there's a new character (a main one) then, look and check. Oh-kayyy? Ok.

**Spence: **I have good quality advice for you...never miss a good chance to...shut up.

**A/N:** Okay, okaaayyy..

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**TWO**

Reeford Royals drove to work the usual time, the usual way. The Mercedes was as soothing as ever. The sun was shining, as it should be in this time of year. The drive to the city was normal. Normal traffic, no more, no less. But today, he wasn't exactly going to work. He had an appointment at exactly eight thirty. He hated that. But his finance director had recommended this guy. Everyone had recommended this guy because this guy was able to loan him some money…enough to keep his business up there before the bank even notices that they're broke.

This man, Nightshade, was supposed to be an old man in his late fifties. Gray hair, skin soft and lined, complete with the cane. No different from any other bloke he dealt with. He told himself to relax, think of this as any other meeting, but he couldn't. It _wasn't_ any other meeting, the man was, literally, holding his life in the palm of his hands. His business. Five generations of Royals running this company could get flushed down the toilet any time. Somehow, the name sounded familiar…he just couldn't place it.

From the outside, Reeford looked and remained as calm as he could but inside, he was nervous as hell. Like a little boy about to piss his pants. He checked his watch and went inside the building. The building his fate was to be decided. Took an elevator fifty floors up and stepped out into the quiet deserted corridor. The ceiling was low and the place narrow but it was cozy and welcoming, thick red carpet leading down into a reception area. It looked normal, something he could had to his normal day. Surprisingly normal and ordinary for a millionaire.

There was a brass-and-oak counter, an attempt at magnificence, and a female receptionist sitting behind it. Reeford paused and cleared his throat, straightening himself up and fixing his tie before stepping over towards her. "Reeford Royals." he said in a no-nonsense tone he picked up from his father. "I've got an appointment with Mr. Conan Nightshade."

The receptionist smiled at him and he was shown straight in instead of being kept waiting. Reeford had expected to sit in for about twenty minutes, out in the reception area in one of those uncomfortable chairs.

That was what he would have done. If a desperate person, like himself, was coming to him, he would've kept him waiting. Let him sweat for thirty hellish minutes, making it last as if it was a lifetime. The inner office was large. Twice more than his, that's for sure. And his was large enough to fit a dozen bulls. More than that, Reeford thought. Many, many more. The wall behind the desk wasn't exactly a wall, it was thick glass with horizontal blinds, open more than narrow slits.

The room was bright and grand. There was a big desk. Facing it was a sofa, more comfortable looking than the ones outside, then there were two armchairs, completing a square. A huge square, brass and glass, coffee table in the middle, standing on the rug. The whole thing looked like a living room display in a store window. A large, grand living room.

There was a man behind the desk, facing away from him. And Reeford stood there like an idiot. What was he waiting for, an introduction?

He started the long walk in towards him, he dodged between the chairs and crabbed around the coffee table. Approaching the desk, he cleared his throat and put on what he called 'the happy act', trying not to make it sound desperate. "Mr. Conan Nightshade?" he asked, he stuck out his right hand. "I'm Reeford Royals."

The chair spun around before he could finish his sentence and he stood there again, like a moron, too surprised or too confused to move. His legs frozen, literally. And the dumb thing was, there was no reason why he should be. An old man in his late fifties? No. Gray hair? Nope. Skin soft and lined? Uh-uh. There wasn't even a cane…and he really expected a cane. The man was nothing like the description. He was a fit man in his early thirties, dark brown eyes, darkly attractive. His smile was warm but in some sense, it was like the guy was mocking him.

It was a very awkward moment. There was nothing more awkward than standing there ready to shake hands while the gesture was ignored. Foolish to keep standing there like that but somehow worse to pull it back. So he kept it extended, waiting. The guy looked at him, half smiling, looking him up and down. Then, finally, he spoke, serious, and challenging, "Where's your mommy?" Reeford stared at him blankly, finally realizing, "Daniel Wesley Nightshade?"

"You bet your ass," Danny replied. Reeford knew the man. Hell yeah, man. This guy was the smooth-talking, sexy gambler who proved catnip to the ladies. A guy he once knew…_the guy who ignored him a lot._ Danny had a red mark on his forehead, like a fresh bruise. The hair on his temple was newly combed but wet, like he'd pressed a cold cloth to his head. "Well, don't just stand there like the moron that you are. Sit somewhere." He said. Reeford felt uncomfortable by following orders from a man younger than him. Especially from a man who wasn't Conan Nightshade after all. But he did it anyway, he sat on the sofa. There was silence in the grand office. Reeford lowered his head and stared at the edge of the coffee table. Time to change his script.

And time for a bold move. "Look, Wes…" but he was soon cut off with the sound of Danny's fingers drumming on the table, "Mr. Eager Beaver…" Danny said thoughtfully, "I was _thinking_ -maybe something you don't do very often, but still -I'm going to loan you the fifty million dollars you've been begging and nagging for…only if you shut up." Reeford's head snapped up, trying to think if this was some kind of test. He swallowed hard, oblivious to the insults.

You see, Wesley here can do two things some people have problems doing. Firstly, he can be adorable, likeable, polite, cute, and incredibly hot. The other thing was…he insults you like hell and can be very obnoxious. _Verrryyy. _One day, Reeford had approached him and for some reason, he was punched in the crotch…which ended up with somebody laughing like a maniac and somebody _else _crying like a little baby. Those were days he didn't like. Other days, Danny would be very quiet and nice. Very pathetic and pitiful considering he was all alone. Reeford approached him and the two talked. The guy was actually pretty fucking hilarious. Polite, nice, and likeable. Almost as if he was a kid. A very drunk kid.

Those were days he liked but today…today was one of the days he didn't like.

"What about security? What does Mr. Conan want?" Reeford asked. "Mr. Conan doesn't want anything. I'm the one your dealing with." Danny replied, he pulled out a printed form from the desk drawer. Slid it across to the front of the desk. "There. I prepared that."

Reeford crouched forward off the sofa and picked it up. It was a loan agreement, fifty million dollars, a month, fifteen per cent, and a standard stock-transfer protocol. Reeford blinked and thought about the options. He had none.

As if reading his mind, Danny said, "You can't do it any other way. You won't get anything better anyplace else." he paused. "Actually, you won't get a damn thing anyplace else."

Danny was five feet away behind the desk, but Reeford felt like he was sitting right next to him, smiling, holding a gun pointed to his head. _Bam_. Reeford made a faint silent movement of his head that was a nod and went into his coat, a shaky hand taking out a black ink pen.

Stretched forward and signed in both places against the cold hard glass of the coffee table. Danny watched him, and smiled, clapping his hands once. "All right, Reese! Now, get out, I wanna watch the basketball game on channel five. Lakers vs. Kings. I'm for Kings…"

Reeford looked at the man in disbelief. Danny sighed and leaned back on the chair, "I assume you want the money in your operating account?" he asked. "Where those blood-sucking banks won't see it?"

Reeford nodded again, in a daze. "That would be great." he said, not believing the fact that he hadn't thought of something like that and that he just signed a paper agreeing onto giving him fifteen percent of stock. Danny made a note. "Okay, okay, okaaayyyy…Yeah, it'll be there when it gets there." Reeford couldn't hold in the excitement, he was sure he would scream with joy as soon as he got out of the building. But he couldn't do that now.

"Thank you." Reeford said appreciatively. It seemed appropriate. "Very much."

"So now, I'm the one over the edge. And I'm telling you, it doesn't feel good. One month with no real security…" Danny exhaled deeply, "…feels like shit." Reeford looked down and replied grimly, unsure, "There won't be a problem." he said, to himself more than to Danny. "I'm sure there won't." Danny said. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom in front of him. Reeford heard a buzzer sounding faintly outside in the anteroom.

"Nyssa. The file please." Danny said into the microphone as he gazed and the sharp letter opener in his hand. Reeford shifted in his seat nervously. There was silence for a moment, and then the door opened. The receptionist named Nyssa walked over to the desk. She was carrying a thin black file. She bent and placed it in front of Danny with a smile. Walked back out and closed the door quietly. Danny used the letter opener to push the file over to the front edge of the desk. "Take a look at that, Mr. Royals."

Once again, Reeford crouched forward and took the file. Opened it up. There were nothing but photographs in it. Several big eight-by-tens, in glossy black and white. The first photograph was of a house. Clearly taken from inside a car stopped at the end of a driveway. The second was of a young and attractive woman. Shot with a long lens as she walked in a flower garden. The third was of the woman coming out of a diner in town. A grainy, long-lens image.

Convert, like a surveillance photograph. The fourth picture was a close-up of the license plate of the woman's car. The fifth and last was also of her, smiling and talking to her friends in her bedroom. Taken at night through her bedroom window. To get that picture, the photographer had been standing in her lawn or something. Reeford's vision blurred and his ears hummed with silence. He could picture Danny behind the desk, smiling. His eyes clouded, Reeford shuffled the pictures together and returned them back into the folder. He put it down and stared into space, his eyes watery.

"Your daughter, Mr. Royals." Danny said. "That's my security."

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Ya see the review button over there? Yeah. That one...Go click it.


	3. Whaddya fuckin know

**THREE**

It started out as a quiet day in the diner. A midweek evening in December, way too late for the snowbirds and the spring breakers, too early for the summer vacationers who came down to roast and burn in the sizzling sun. Not more than maybe fifteen people in all afternoon, two girls behind the counter, the same old men, five girls talking in a booth, and five other people. Angelo was wearing a black trucker hat, aviator sunglasses, a dirty white T-Shirt and jeans. He sat sitting on a stool by the counter, wet and exhausted after the long walk in heavy rain, quiet and still, minding his own business.

It had been seven days since the meeting with Jean-Claude. Seven days since he had last gone to sleep. Outside, the rain had stopped but the glass was still pebbled with bright drops. He saw a sleek black car pull into the gravel lot. It was moving fast and crunched to a stop but it remained still and dull. No doors opened. No people scrambling out of the car and into the diner. A minute later, he was sitting in his usual booth, drinking coffee, watching the chess game between the two old men. Bored when they fell asleep and interested when they argued about how one cheated.

Through all the arguing about how one of them 'ate' the other's king piece, he could hear Laura quarrelling behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted one man with her. Guy from some big northern city, he guessed, after much inspection. Tough guy in a thousand dollar suit and shined shoes. Down in this little place in a hurry, still dressed for his city office. But the clothes were nothing, it was the other things that striked him odd. The way he acted, the way he spoke…

Having finished his coffee, he eased off his seat and started towards the door. Up close, Angelo sensed something coming off the man. Some kind of a blend of menace and confidence. Some arrogance in there, maybe. A suggestion he normally got his own way.

"Everything okay?" Angelo asked, stopping in front of the two. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to actually give a rat's ass about something.

"Well, let's see." the guy started, "I hate the whole wide world, living in it hurts like hell…especially my job but I need it because my damned boss is threatening me so, I wonder, I _rreaaallllyyy _wonder, does that give you enough of an answer?"

Oh, ho, ho. Is this what you get for being nice? Ah, life was screwed up that way. Angelo wasted no second, he didn't think…just reacted, "Oh, the world hates little bitty Barbie, does it? Well, no shit, man. Of _course_ it hurts like hell. It's twice the hell I have to put up with while having this conversation with you." He said calmly, hands in his pockets. The man looked amused. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Raymond." Angelo said automatically, he had gotten used to the name. The man watched as Laura hurried off to fill an order. "Yeah?" he asked. "I'm looking for a guy called Spencer." he continued, "D'Angelo Spencer. You know him?" Angelo pretended to think about it and then shook his head, "Nope. Never heard of him."

"Anyone else know him?" the man said back. Once again, Angelo shook his head. "No."

The man smiled at him, and Angelo was sure he didn't buy it. "You sure?"

A pause. And then, "I'm sure."

"Well, thanks anyway." The guy said. "Considering I might be stuck here for a while, I'll see you again." And with that, he left. Out the door and back into the cold, windy weather.

"Bring your friends." Angelo muttered to himself. He started back into the room, remembering he had forgotten his jacket. Laura was standing right there behind him. "What did he want?" she asked. He shrugged the jacket on, "Looking for a guy."

"Someone called Spencer?" she asked. He nodded. Laura sighed heavily, "Sixth time this week." she said. "There was an old guy who kept coming here, and now them."

Angelo shrugged. "Maybe they like the food?"

"Oh please." Laura laughed. "You crack me up." she shook her head, snickering, walking away to go and have a word with one of the impatient cooks who kept swearing and spitting on the meals. Angelo watched her go and his eyes wandered around the room, in deep thought, he glanced at somebody's abandoned newspaper.

He picked it up and stared down at the front page. The headline was: _'First murder in over fifty years' _below it was a picture of a dead man, his body found behind an alley. The guy looked somewhere around his fifties, medium height, bulky…._Holy shit. _

That man was Jean-Claude.

* * *

It was his fault. Some people might say, 'No, it isn't. You didn't kill the man.' but it was still his fault. He got him killed. So there wasn't a difference. Maybe he should've told him. Maybe he should've said, 'Sure. I'm D'Angelo Spencer.' and then, Hardway would've told him whatever he was meant to. And then, he would have been home by now. Angelo could have ignored it all anyway, like he always did. He'd be no worse off, and then, the guy would still be alive. 

You might ask him, 'Sure, but why do you care?' The answer to that would be simple. Simple and complicated in many reasons. It wasn't because he felt responsible. It was because he felt guilty. But why should he? He didn't kill him. Shit…shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Three fucking months in silence, with unknown identity, all flushed down the toilet because he didn't say, 'Sure. I'm Spencer.'

He was still wondering why the hell he had lied to Jean-Claude. And he only came up with one conclusion: Because there was no reason not to. But, there was also no reason why a private detective from a big northern city should have been looking for him. He had no living relatives. He owed no money. He had never stolen anything. Never cheated on anybody…

Vampires.

No. He mentally slapped himself in the face. The vampires were gone. Dead. Lifeless. Finished. Extinct. Vanished. Destroyed…Shot to hell. Take your pick but they all mean the same thing, and he wanted to stick with the thought of that same thing. How hard was it to _be_ dead and _remain_ dead? If there was such a thing as 'the god-almighty', he wouldn't have let those bloodsuckers live.

He continued to think about it. As far as he knew, he had been invisible. And he had never known anybody called Skyler. Not one of his patients. Friends. Or any close relatives. So whatever the hell Jean-Claude wanted to say, he was definitely not interested. Nope. Not one bit. Because him being invisible had become a habit. It's better than a habit, it was kind of like a game. He liked the secrecy, being able to sleep at night instead of staring at the ceiling all night for the past two years. It felt warm, comfortable and reassuring. Knowing that there isn't going to be a madman in your house ready and waiting with a fucking butcher knife.

He was sure it was the other guy who had killed Hardway. Think about it, a private detective comes in one day, looking for him without the other guy, so they weren't working together. The other guy probably worked for someone else. Maybe he was asked to come and follow Hardway, to see what he knew. To know what the hell he was doing. Hardway might have given them a problem up north. So he was tailed down here, the young guy caught up with him, beat out of him who he was looking for and then, whadddya-fuckin-know, the guy comes in the day after Hardway turns up dead and asks for a D'Angelo Spencer.

Sure, and then you might say, 'Are you going to tell the cops?' But involving the cops with anything was a matter for long and serious debate. That wasn't the problem, though. The problem was…would they believe him? From the looks of it, he could be suspect numero uno. When they find out who Hardway is, they'll be looking for him. But not right away, it could be weeks. Months, even.

That was his conclusion, as he drove the truck all over town, trying to think of what to do. After much thinking, he decided to look for Ms. Skyler, Hardway's client. It wasn't something he wanted to do. It was something he _needed _to do. Maybe she'd lead him to whatever the hell this was all about. So yes, that was his conclusion, as he drove up north to the airport at eight o'clock pm, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and his things in the backseat.

* * *

Two hours later, Angelo stood inside the departures terminal, breathing the canned air, listening to a dozen conversations in Spanish, checking the television monitor. Los Angeles was at the top of the list, as he had guessed it would be. Second was Knoxville. He headed to the United ticket desk before he had any chance to read the third. Asked about the price of a one-way ticket and nodded when it was perfectly fine. As he walked back to the chairs, he pulled his cash roll from his pocket and assembled the price he had just been quoted from the smallest bills he had. 

Then, he picked up the bag and walked back to the girl on the counter. She took it all and straightened the bills and shuffled them into denominations, without looking up. "Your name, sir?" she asked. Her tone was dull and unwelcoming. "Hunter," Angelo replied. The girl typed the name into her console and the ticket printed out. She put it in a folder with a red-and-blue world on it, then she tore it straight back out, asking, "You want to get checked in now?"

"Yeah."

"Gaaaattte B Six, sir," the girl said. "You have a window."

"Thanks," Angelo said. It wasn't like before…not anymore. He was a nice guy now. Quiet, at times but nice. No more insults unless it was really needed and someone was really pissing him off. Moving for insults to 'please' and 'thank you' was tough. His father had called that 'puberty'. He walked to the gate and fifteen minutes later was accelerating down the runway with pretty much the same painful feeling as being back in Lara's car, except the seat next to him was empty. And this time, there was no Hannibal. No Abby. No Kasu.


	4. Do I sound like a happy guy to you?

**FOUR**

The young man in the crumpled thousand-dollar suit waited until Daniel Wes Nightshade had left the building. Then, he went to another office a few floors up, a place where he was not meant to go to. Especially not when Mr. Wes was present. That place was Conan's office.

Daniel's step-father, the most annoying sonofabitch Wes has ever met.

And the relationship between the two was not good. Going up there would mean eternal torture from Mr. Wes if he had found out. He didn't know much about Mr. Nightshade but everytime he had conversations with Mr. Conan, Conan would keep telling him stories about how Daniel's mother abused him. How he got a divorce…and every time, Conan would laugh.

Daniel's life was not pretty. It was full of pain. He thought he was what he was now because of how he was raised. His father had left his mother and she was so broken up, she took all her anger out on him. Then, she re-married to a rich, selfish bastard. Soon, Daniel got married to a woman. A nice lady, she was. Beautiful, smart, and tough.

But they got divorced.

He remembered, back when they were friends, Daniel was the best man in _his_ wedding. Back when they were friends. Back when Daniel wasn't so cruel. Back when they didn't know Mr. Conan. But now, it all changed. It was like they never knew each other. He recalled to that day at the church. The big day…

"Bide away, Wes. Thanks for being my best man and actually getting off your ass to come here…" he smiled.

"And the suit, man. Give me credit for actually wearing a suit." Wes whispered to him as the bride walked down the aisle.

"Yeah. Thank--"

"You've got to get out of this church ASAP." Wes suddenly said.

People nearby glared at him. He acted calm, oblivious, smiling at a particular woman in the crowd. "We talked about this, Wes." he replied.

"I'm a married man. I have a wife and a kid…Do I sound like a happy guy to you?"

"You're a jackass."

Smiling sweetly at the woman, Wes waves. She's a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes, holding a four year-old boy in her arms. "Always watching, always looking at me for financial problems…Smile at the baby, smile at the baby." Wes said, still smiling.

"Wesley, shut up. Here she comes…" He said, after smiling at the baby. The bride smiled as she came up. Wesley coughed rather loudly when the priest was about to wed them, "Don't do it!" he coughed a little more. Everyone glared at him. He looked at everyone, apologetic, "I'm sorry…it's…a sickness I have to deal with…" he explained. "Yeah.."

That wasn't the only sickness…

It was when Conan dropped back into his life. That was when the problems all began. The divorce, the kids, the job, this whole thing…

He threaded through the furniture and stood quietly in front of the desk. Conan looked up at him and put some folders away, snickering, "You do know, my son of a bitch will kill you if he found out your up here, don't you, Carl?" He put his right hand on the desktop. Actually, it wasn't even a hand. It was a hook. A simple, elegant curve sharp enough to rip flesh off. The man called Carl was quiet for a moment.

"Well?" Conan asked. "Your home early? You get what I want?"

Carl nodded and sat down on a chair. "Yeah. He was looking for a guy called D'Angelo Spencer." Conan's eyes widened and there was silence in the dim office, "D'Angelo Spencer?" he asked, making sure his ears hadn't deceived him. It was a long, long time since he had heard the name. And the last time he had was not a very good memory, he thought, glancing at his hook. Carl nodded and continued, "There was this guy at the diner. He said he wasn't D'Angelo."

"And your telling me this…why?"

"I saw him at the airport on the way back…" Carl replied. Conan glanced back down at his hook, thinking, _About two big guys ask for your name…one of them turns up dead…So you think someone's after you, you tell them your not the person their after and then, what the hell do you do? You run. That's what you do. _Carl continued, "…He's in Los Angeles, sir."

He glanced up at Carl, grinning wildly, "Well, then let's give him a good ol' warm greeting…"

* * *

The plane was rocking and tilting. The tall buildings sliding by under them, tinted gold by the rising sun. Then, the plane was looping around and diving for the ground, and landing. 

It had been a long time since he had been to Los Angeles but he remembered everything quite well. Surprisingly well. In no time at all, he was on his way around.

The same sun on the back of his neck as he made his way around Los Angeles in the rear seat of a bright yellow taxi. Ladies and Gentlemen - D'Angelo Spencer - the most fucked up man you'll ever meet. But as smashed as he was, he was no idiot. He preferred the unlicensed operators, given the choice. Because there was no reason at all why anyone should ever want to trace his movements by checking with cab drivers.

As he got out of the taxi, he tried to get a grip on the size of task he had set himself. There was confidence he was in the right city thanks to the same two accents from the two guys. There was also arrogance and the major ego. But, problem was, there was a huge population. Who knows, there could be a hundred different Ms. Skylers out there. Oh fuck, where to start…

After much thinking, he finally decided to go to the library, yaaa know, the place where the books live? If he's lucky, a book will just sprout legs and walk over to him, telling him who and where the hell this Ms Skyler lived. Phone books? _Yeah, it'll have those._ Free food? _You wish. _A comfortable chair he could wreck? _Ooh! Plenty! Let us go! _Yeah, _riiiiggght. _But it wouldn't harm to check. Yeah, _nooooo haaarrrmmm_. A guy turns up dead because of him. _Noooo_ harm at all.

He ran across the street and into an office-supply store to buy a notebook and a pencil. After that, it was a five-minute trip to the nearest restaurant. Hey, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, okay? Well, maybe lunch, too. And dinner…

* * *

There was good news and bad news at the library. Plenty of people called Skyler listed in the phone books for Los Angeles. A little too much. Angelo gave it an hour's radius from the city he was in. People an hour away would instinctively turn to the city when they need something. If it was farther away than that, maybe they wouldn't. He made marks with his pencil in his notebook and counted fifty potential candidates for Ms. Skyler. 

But the Yellow Pages showed no private investigator called Hardway, a little information on the White pages but no more than that. Angelo leaned back in his chair and tilted it back, his head lolling backwards. He shut his eyes and sighed. It would have been too good to be true to open up the damned book and see Hardway Investigations - We track down drifters who used to be doctors down south. He sat for a while, weighing his options. Then, he walked outside, to the payphone on the sidewalk. He propped the notebook on top of the phone with all the quarters he had in his pocket and started down the list of all the precincts

Each one, he asked for a 'Jean-Claude Hardway'. No such luck. Man, this sucked. Really. He stood there for a long time with no answers, no progress, and was down to one more quarter when - bada-bing, bada-boom. - There it was. The first twelve precincts were unable to help. But it would help if they sounded regretful. The thirteenth call started the same way, ring tone, a 'quick' transfer, a long pause with the annoying little wait music, then a wheezing acknowledgement as the phone was answered deep in the bowels of some, stinky, precinct that smelled of thirty day old doughnuts and some other things Angelo just made up.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Jean-Claude Hardway," Angelo said, leaning on the glass. "He's retired." _Like all private dicks were. _"He set up a private. He's about fifty…or sixty…I don't know. _I didn't have time to ask because I realized I had a life_." The last bit was whispered. "Yeah, who are you?" the voice replied. Identical accent. Could've been Hardway himself, if he wasn't busy at the morgue.

"Name's Hunter." Angelo said. A pause, and then, "What do you want from Mr. Hardway, Mr. Hunter?"

"Confidential stuff." Angelo said, putting the last quarter back in his pocket, "I kind of lost his card. I couldn't find his number in the book."

"Hardway only works for policemen and lawyers. His number is definitely not in the book, that's why."

Lawyers and Policemen…._okaaayyyy_, that sizes it down a bit. "Okay, thanks. Umm, do you know a woman called Skyler? She's a client. "

"Skyler?" the voice asked. Another pause. It's either the guy is hesitating on giving away information like that or he doesn't know shit. "Well, yeah. She's a lawyer. A good one, too. Of course I've heard of her. She and Hardway seemed like good friends."

Oh, lovely. Why the hell is he telling me this? Angelo thought, impatient and anxious.

"Ya know where Hardway works?" Angelo asked. "San Diego, someplace." the voice said, and stopped. Angelo sighed away from the phone in annoyance. Like pulling teeth. "You know where in San Diego?" the guy continued, as if reading his mind. "Nope. Not a clue." Angelo replied. _Why do you think I'm asking, you dumb shit?_ "I'm sorry. I don't really know."

"Okay, thanks for your help." Angelo said. "Yeah," the voice said. Angelo hung up and leaned back on the glass once again, his arms folded against his chest, he let his head hit it with a soft _'thunk'. _

"Great," he muttered. "Lawyers." He started back up to the library and checked the White Pages again for a Skyler. No listing. _Fucking great. _

* * *

Danny was on his terrace, thirty floors up, leaning on the railing with his back to the park. The building from which he worked was easily seen from here. Just a couple of blocks away.

His t-shirt and jeans dripping wet. His eyes cloudy and watery as he stared at the floor, dazed…

"You little bastard! Stop singing that stupid song. You fucking hear me? You have no voice, anyway, so just shut up! Shut up!"

"Mrs. Nightshade…your son has a mental illness."

I don't…I'm fine…I'm perfectly fine…

"You fucking idiot!"

"…Dissociative disorders are often misdiagnosed, and studies have shown that, on average, people with MPD have spent seven years, prior to accurate diagnosis…"

I'm not mentally sick…I'm not…

"So what the hell are you saying?"

"Your son is committing murders just to get your attention…"

I never killed anyone!

Danny glanced over at the table to his left, at the blood-spattered knife.

The glare of the fluorescent light spun around and tilted past her gaze as she fainted to the floor…

What now, Mother?

A hand was lying on the table right beside the knife, palm up, fingers curled like a beggar's.

"Daniel, what did you do!"

I just wanted your attention…

"WHAT DID YOU DO!"


	5. Awfully Familiar

**FIVE**

Angelo stared at the five-floor building, six if you counted the basement. Suites one, two, three and four were on the first floor. He went up the stairs and found suite one on his left, two on his right, three right after two and four right at the back of the building with its door tucked under the angle of the staircase as it wound up to the second storey.

The door to Hardway's office was a polished mahogany affair, and it was standing open. Not wide open but open enough to be so obvious. Angelo casually walked across the room and then rushed back like an idiot to the bottom of the stairs once he heard footsteps. Don't even _ask_ how he got past security. Once the person had passed, he walked back towards the door and pushed it with his shoe, and it swung open on its hinges to reveal a small, quiet reception area the size of motel room.

It was decorated in a pastel color somewhere between light gray and light blue. There was thick, dark carpet on the floor. A secretary's desk in the shape of a letter L, with a complicated telephone and a sleek computer. There was also a filing cabinet and a sofa, a window with pebbled glass and another door leading straight into an inner office. Angelo whistled softly and waited. Nobody was here. He shut the door behind him. It was quiet. The lock was latched back, like the office had been opened up for business. He padded across the carpet and to the reception area.

Okay…Tracing this person should be really easy, right? Right? Wrong! But still, this would be like trying to find out the identification or cause of death of a person. Since he used to be a doctor, he could do that. There was the smell of perfume in the air. He threaded around the secretary's desk and found a woman's bag, open, neatly stowed against the vanity panel to the left of the chair. He tilted his head to the side…

"G'dammit, Lara. Why do you leave your bag here? Sebastian sprayed himself in the face with perfume!--Sebastian, noooo. No. Give it to me…Give it!--Damn it, Lara. Next time, I might be the one who sprays myself. We can't let that happen. I might die of the "women-talk-a-lot" disease. And I'm very important--Ew…Honey! Sebastian's eating your lipstick…Na-a-a-ah, hold on. Leave him. It's actually fun to watch."

…Pained, he shook the memory from his head and continued on. Less enthusiastic than he was before. He sat on the chair and looked at the bag. The flap was folded back, revealing a soft leather wallet and a plastic pack of tissues. He took out his pencil and used the eraser end to poke the tissues aside. Lipstick, perfume, make-up--is that a condom? Angelo paused for a moment and made a face, glancing from the pencil to the condom. Ugh…

"I don't even want to know…" he muttered. The computer monitor was swirling with a watery screensaver. He used the pencil to nudge the mouse. The screen crackled and cleared and revealed a half-finished letter. The cursor was blinking patiently in the middle of an uncompleted word. This morning's date at the very top of the letter. He thought about it and glanced between the tidy placement of the absent woman's bag, the open door, the uncompleted word, and he shivered.

He used the pencil to exit Microsoft Word. A window opened and asked him if he wanted to save the changes to the letter. After a moment, he clicked 'Yes'. He opened the file manager screen and checked the directories. He was looking for an invoice. Surely, there's gotta be a Ms. Skyler here…He thought about it. He clicked on a subdirectory labeled 'Invoices'. The right-hand side of the screen came up with a long field of file names, stacked alphabetically. He ran the cursor down the list and spooled them up from the bottom. No Skyler in the Ss.

Mostly it was just initials. That didn't make it any easier. He sat there, thinking. When did the search for D'Angelo Spencer start? It musta been a clear sequence. He thought about how he normally found out the cause of people's deaths and compared. It was Ms. Skyler's instructions coming at the outset, nothing except a name, a vague description about his size, looks and job. Hardway mighta called the hospital he used to work with. _Like that's any help…_Then, Hardway would've had a puzzled pause, in a dead end.

Then, the whole shot with the bank account. A call to an old buddy, old pal, favors called in, strings were pulled. Maybe a blurry faxed printout from Knoxville, maybe a blow-by-blow narrative of credits and debits over the phone. Then, there was the hurried flight down to South America, questions asked all over, the other guy, the argument, the newspaper. The death.

A short sequence, Angelo could understand. Like a rough idea of what the hell Hardway's been doing. There would've been delays. Call it a total of twelve to thirteen days, separated by a day's thinking time, plus a day at the start and one at the end. Maybe altogether fifteen days since Ms. Skyler set the whole thing in motion. _Kinda slow for a guy like Hardway…_

Mostly they were just long acronyms maybe standing for law firm names. Angelo checked the dates. Nothing from exactly fifteen days ago. But there was one sixteen days old. _Well, okay then…_It was labeled L&W-12. He clicked on it and the hard drive chattered. He had a major urge to just hit it. "Hurry up…" he grumbled.

"Kasu, Will you hurry up and tell us? We've been guessing for half an hour."

"It's not my fault your stupid."

"Oh? I'm stupid? Well, at least I'm cuter."

"What!"

"Admit it…Come on, ittle Kasu. Admit it! Admit it! Admit it!--Okay, I'm gonna go now. Tellitubies is on…"

The hard rive chattered and buzzed. It snapped him out of his thoughts and the screen came up. A firm called Latham & Watkins. There was a billing address but no phone number. He quit the file manager and entered the database. Searched for it again and came up with a page showing the same address, but this time with numbers for phone, fax, telex and e-mail. He leaned down and used his fingers and thumb to pull a couple of tissues from the bag. Wrapped one around the telephone receiver and opened the other flat and laid it across the keypad. Dialed the number by pressing through it. There was ring tone for a second, and then, the connection was made.

"Latham & Watkins." A bright, cheery voice said. "How may we help you?"

Angelo held the receiver away from his ear. _You can help me by tuning the speakers down a lil' bit…_ "Can I speak to Ms. Skyler, please?" Angelo asked. "One moment." the voice said. There was tinny music and then, a man's voice. He sounded quick, but deferential. An assistant. "Ms. Skyler…please." He said again, the last word a little confused. The guy sounded busy and harassed. "She already left for Glendale. I don't know when she'll be back."

"Do you have her address there? I seem to have lost it."

The man agreed and recited the address, apparently from memory. "I think you might need to hurry." the guy said. "Sure, I will." Angelo said back, he hung up, thinking more. Okay, one step close to gold. He closed the database and left the screen blank. He took one more glance art the missing secretary's abandoned bag and stumbled out of the office, after hearing footsteps.

* * *

The secretary died fifty minutes after she gave up Ms. Skyler's identity, which was about five minutes after Danny had a little fun. She could've ran and screamed for help. But, too bad. She took Danny for a good guy. Who _wouldn't? _A nice, polite, happy, cheerful guy walks up, grumbling about wages. You're an idiot if you didn't talk to him. But, well, your a bigger idiot if you did. The guy smiles at you in a charming way and makes you laugh… 

..You would've never guessed that guy was a mental, psycho, serial killer. Danny lit yet another cigarette. Troubled. His face demented and deadly serious, there was patience and anger in there. But there wasn't a trace of guilt or regret.

Smiling manically, Danny bent down, hands on his knees. A woman was handcuffed, to a railing, covered in gasoline, duct tape stuck on her mouth. Her face wet with tears. Pervious screams, all women, rang in his ears. It didn't bother him one bit. He looked down at her and held a knife to her face. She pulled away, trying to scream.

"It's okay mom. I won't hurt you…not, yet, anyway."

No response. More muffled screams and tears.

"I'm gonna take the tape off if you've got your answer. Promise not to scream or…" Danny looked at the knife, and shrugged, "Well, you can use your imagination. And I warn you, those thoughts are gonna be a bloody mess." he grinned, laughing slightly. "You promise not to scream?"

The woman started nodding wildly, eyes bulging, Danny tore off the strip and waited for the answer, smiling.

The woman gave him a look of pure hatred, "You son of a bitch, I've never loved you. I've wanted to kill you ever since you were born!"

Danny's smile disappeared. A pitiful look on his face.

"Yeah, that's it. You wanted the truth? There's the truth. I fucking hated you and I hope you rot in hell you psycho bastard!"

Inside the massive office toilet, Brandon, one of guys, was mopping the secretary's blood off floor, his expensive pants rolled up and his socks and shoes off. Danny was outside his office, smoking, pondering. "So, what are you going to do now, Wes?" Carl asked, nervous. It had been a close call earlier today. Danny almost caught him coming out from Conan's office. Conan had told Danny only about Ms. Skyler…forcing him to do the job. To look for her and bring her to him.

They never mentioned a D'Angelo.

Danny inhaled and blew smoke rings, staring into space. "I'm going to find Ms. Skyler…"


	6. Shadow of Doubt

**SIX**

The best way to get to get there in a hurry would be to grab a rental car and head straight out. But a guy who chooses not to use credit cards and won't carry a driver's license loses that option. It was fine back in Knoxville. He didn't know why but it was fine back there. So, Angelo was back in a cab, heading for the train station. He paid off the cab and pushed through the crowd to the doors. Down the long ramp and out into the giant concourse.

He glanced around and craned his head to read the departures screen. But his mind was what his wife called, "la-la" land. It was the computer that meant the most. The cursor, patiently blinking in the middle of a word. The open door, the abandoned bag, that was almost normal. Office workers usually take their stuff and close their doors, but not always. But…curiosity killed him, he wondered if anyone would leave computer work unsaved. Which meant she got up from her desk without clicking 'save', which is like breathing to some people he knew.

That put a very bad complexion on the whole thing. A few minutes later, Angelo was standing, with a twenty-ounce cup of coffee he had bought from a vendor. He jammed the lid down tight and squeezed the cash roll and roll-ups in his pocket. He walked back and around to the track where the next train was waiting to leave.

* * *

Same road, same direction, no turn, but the complex dynamic of heavy traffic means that if one driver slows down more than the average, then the highway can back up dramatically, with hundreds of people stalled way behind, all because some out-of-towner a mile ahead become momentarily retarded. Danny sat behind the wheel, one hand dangling out the window, holding a cigarette. He knew exactly where he was headed. He was going to where Ms. Skyler lived. Nobody else went along for some reason but it didn't bother him. 

He passed the train station and was on his way…

* * *

The expresses do not run any faster in terms of speed, but they stop less often. They make the journey last somewhere between forty-nine and fifty-two minutes. The locals stop everywhere, and the repeated breaking and waiting and accelerating spin the trip out to anywhere between sixty eight and eighty one minutes. Angelo was of course, on the express, he was sitting down on the floor- _literally_ - without a care as if he owed the thing, wired from too much coffee, his head leaning on one of the seats. 

Angelo sat there, thinking…_What if I came with her? What if I prevented it from happening? If I did…I wouldn't be sitting here going to nowhere. I would be with her…with the kids…_He wondered exactly where the hell he was going, and why, and what he was going to do when he got there. And whether he would get there in time to do it, anyway, whatever it was.

* * *

The car curved gracefully away from the river to run behind this street. It was a fast enough road. Not exactly racetrack material, because it curved and bounced around too much for sustained high speed, but it was clear and empty, a patchwork of old sections and new stretches carved through the woods. There were housing developments here and there, with high timber fencing and neat painted sliding and optimistic names carved or painted into mailboxes. 

The car hustled along, and started hunting a left turn. He found it and swung head-on towards the river, which he sensed ahead of him, an empty break in the landscape. Danny then started hunting for the address. Not easy to find. The residential areas were scattered. But Danny soon found the right road and made all the correct turns and found the right street. The car slowed and cruised through the thinning woods above the river, watching the mailboxes.

A smile crept on Danny's face as the car came to a stop in a kerb…

* * *

It was seven o'clock pm when the train finally arrived. Angelo's eyes were closed. The empty coffee cup on his hand. Something else was crumpled up in his hand. He stirred as the trains slowed. The stout, black American woman looked at him, and approached him with sympathy. "Poor guy." she said to no-one in particular, having noticed the item on his hand. 

Reluctantly, she gently shook him. His eyes blinked a couple of times before opening, he straightened up a little bit when he realized where he was. "Are you okay, hon?" the woman asked softly, concerned. Angelo exhaled. "Yeah." he replied, tiredness dripping off every word. No _'Of course I'm okay, you dumbass.' _or _'No, but I feel better knowing I'm not as stupid as you.' _Actually, no insults. Just _'Yeah.' _and nothing else. That felt good knowing you haven't put anybody down with insults.

The lady helped him up, he said thanks and got out of the train, two hours after getting in. He ran up the stairs and across and down to the taxi rank, There were five operators lined up, all nose-in to the station entrance, all of them using old-model Caprice wagons. First driver to react was a nervous Indian man who raised his hand nervously. Angelo approached him and recited Skyler's address. "You know where that is?"

He whistled. "That's a long way away, mister. Ten miles."

"I'll give you sixty bucks…" Angelo paused and did the math., trying to remember how much money he has. "…and fifty cents." The guy seemed to relax slightly, smiling. "But I gotta be there now." Angelo continued. The guy nodded, smiling. Angelo sat in front, next to him. The car stank like old taxis do, sweet cloying air-freshener and upholstery cleaner. It was a mix of a living room and a cultural place thing…or a religious thing…_Oooooh yeah, what was that place called, again? Oh, that's right!--…a church. _

After some time, the guy settled to a fast tune. He turned on the radio and listened to some music, a second later, after realizing that Angelo was there, he turned it back off. Angelo turned it back on, the guy smiled at him, and he turned it up. "The place overlooks the river. It is quite beautiful." the guy said. Angelo nodded, "Yeah. I heard." and then, Angelo surprised him with what he said next, "What's your name?"

"Rajah." the guy replied. Not as nervous as before, but surprised. Angelo leaned back and smiled to himself. Rajah cruised for a quarter of an hour, passed by a couple of streets and then slowed, looking for a particular left. Hauled the huge car-boat-church-thingamajig around and headed west. Angelo could feel the river up ahead.

"Should be along here somewhere, mister." Rajah said. It was a narrow road, domesticated with ranch fencing in rough timber and tamed with mowed shoulders and specimen plantings. There were mailboxes a hundred yards apart and poles that hung cables through the treetops. "Well, this is it." Rajah said with his accent. He eased up the taxi into the driveway that was almost empty, except for the black car in the kerb.

"Ok?" Rajah asked. Angelo checked the place out. "Yeah. Okay." He got out of the car and Rajah was about to drive away, without Angelo having to pay him. "Hey. You forgot your fifty bucks." Rajah laughed slightly, embarrassed. Mentally slapping himself across the face. Angelo laughed along with him and noticed the family photo by the rear-view mirror. His smile faded as he looked at the smiling faces. "You know what?" Angelo said, faintly, turning to Rajah whom stopped laughing. "How about I give you sixty…your family looks nice."

Rajah's face brightened. Angelo smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He paid Rajah who kissed the photo before driving off. Angelo watched him go then turned to look at the house in front of him, unsure. He heard a car whine away in reverse. Looked at the mailbox. There was a name spelled out in the little aluminium letters along the top of it. As he read the name, everything just got a little more clearer.

* * *

Danny sat behind the wheel. _Un-fucking-believable, _he thought. He was pissed. And he was happy. Amused and very entertained, actually. He was back. No wonder Conan told him to do this. Fucking bastard just wanted to annoy him. The cell phone started to play that annoying ring tone Conan liked so much. He answered it and heard a maniacal laugh from none other than Conan, himself. "He-he-heeeyy, _son. _Did you get my gift wrapped little present?" 

Danny winced at the word 'son'. "I hate it and I love it."

"Ah, so you did get it. Whatcha gonna do now, Wes?"

"I'm going to stick with it." Danny said, deadly serious.

There was a slight chuckle from Conan, "If you can actually go in the same room as him."

"I can…and who said I was? He'll eventually leave and she'll be the one who stays since it's her godamn house. If he leaves, I'm gonna let him go. If he doesn't…" A pause.

"…then, I'll waste him."

* * *

Angelo stood awkwardly outside the house, his hand a few inches from the wood of the door, his knuckles almost touching it. But he didn't…_No, he couldn't have gotten the wrong address. _This was kind of… 'it'. His eyes were cloudy. And I tell you people, this is no joke. 

Then, the door suddenly opened. It was a young woman, maybe the same age, dressed in a large black t-shirt with the words 'All men are Jackasses and I'm looking at their king', she was pale and strained, but very beautiful. Achingly beautiful. Very slim, tall even in her sneakers, long legs in faded jeans. Fine blond hair, long and unstyled, green eyes, fine bones. It was obvious that she had been crying. She looked at Angelo.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He lowered his hand and stood in the uncomfortable silence. "Hello Spencer," She said, softly. He looked at her. She knew who he was. And he knew who she was.

I'm searching for something, it's so hard to find. I'm falling off the chain, I can't seem to climb. I keep driving down highways that don't have an end. I can't find the signs so I'm lost again…

"Hello, Kathryn." he said, his voice hoarse, low and strained. Sad, like the scene around him. There was another silence. "I'm…I'm looking for somebody."

But I'm looking forward to seeing her smile. We've been strangers, lost for a while. A new day was coming, a change at last. All my problems fade away in the past…

"I know." she said in the same, saddened tone. "…Ms Skyler, right?"

"Yeah. Is…is she here?" he stuttered.

You're the king on his throne with his eyes torn out…

You're the blind man looking for a shadow of doubt…

"I'm Ms. Skyler."


	7. Crafty Veteran

**SEVEN**

"…_Your _Ms. Skyler?"

"…Am, was. I was divorced, but I kept the name for work." She looked around the driveway, puzzled. "…Where's Hardway?"

She looked exactly like her…Like her…

Angelo didn't know how to react to that. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked down at the ground, hands in his pockets. "Kathryn, I need to talk to you…" he looked up at her. Their eyes locked. "…about Hardway."

I don't know how much longer that I can wait, It's a thin line between love and hate…

"…What happened?"

"…I'm sorry…"

* * *

Danny thought about it. _If he doesn't leave…waste him. _D'Angelo. Fuck. The last time they had crossed paths, he let Angelo go…with major injuries. He couldn't kill him then, what made Conan think he could kill him now? _Fuck. _He dialled the number to the office and waited for it to ring. _Let's see if the new guy's any use…

* * *

Kathryn had led him through a dark hallway to a small dark wood panelling and heavy brown leather furniture made it gloomy, so she switched on a desk lamp, which changed it into a cosy man's space. There were shelves of books, expensive editions bought by subscriptions decades ago, and curled faded photographs thumbtacked to the front edges of the shelves. _

And two minutes later, he was sitting across from her in an arm chair, looking at the carpet, as if interested in it. Kathryn watched him for a long time. "Somebody killed him?" she repeated. Angelo looked up and opened his mouth to say something, "I……I-I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I should have told him." Kathryn stood up and folded her arms, he watched as she sat back down, closer to him, her eyes focused on the carpet.

"I don't believe it." she whispered. "Why?"

"I don't know why," Angelo replied. "I don't know shit, Kathryn. I don't even know why he turned up so sudden like…like……a fucking tooth fairy!"

"Mom passed away…" She said softly. "…she wanted you to come to her funeral."

The news hit him like lightning. Kathryn's mother had been like a second mother to him ever since his' died in a car accident. She was always so happy and cheerful, and she wouldn't take shit from anyone. She was like, so tough. It was hard to believe she was gone. "I'm sorry…" he said again. "Don't be, your not the one who was deciding whether to pull the plug or not…" she said.

"Did Hardway come up here? So that you could discuss stuff?" Angelo asked. She nodded. "I called him and told him we'd pay him, but he was meant to come here to get the details. He called me back a day or two later, said he'd discussed it with Mom and it boiled down to finding you. He wanted me to retain him officially, on paper, because it could get very expensive. So naturally, I did that by myself."

"…He told me his client was Ms. Skyler." Angelo said. "Not Kathryn R. Which is why I ignored him. Which is how I got him killed."

She shook her head and looked at him sharply, like he was some kind of new associate who had just done a piece of sloppy drafting. Angelo wasn't surprised. He held his breath, waiting for the outburst he usually got when they were about eight-year-old.

"You're a jackass." She continued on, ignoring Angelo who rolled his eyes at her, "Mom told Hardway the story. Hardway tried some kind of a shortcut before he went looking for you, whereby he turned over the wrong stone and got somebody pissed. That asshole killed him to find out who was looking, and why. Makes no difference. And that, you idiot, is how I got him killed, ultimately."

"It was your mom. Through you…and then, through your thick-as-your-head money."

She shook her head. "I think it was my mom's associate. Her, through mom, through me and my so called 'thick-as-my-head-money'." Angelo snickered, mocking her through his actions. "We're gonna be here all day so I'm stopping there." she said. Angelo held up his hands in surrender and then lowered them, "I need to find that person…"

"Why, does it matter now?"

"Because - _oh, _that's right! -I said so."

She nodded vaguely and glanced towards the window. "Okay, so what do I do?"

"You get out of here," Angelo said. "That's for damned sure. Too lonely, to isolated. You got a place in the city?" She nodded, "Yeah. I live there. This is Mom's house."

"You got a car here?" he asked her. She shrugged, "Sure. It's in the garage."

There was pause. A fraction of a second. "What kind of car?"

* * *

Danny watched as two shadows pushed through the driveway, he exhaled some smoke and smiled to himself. The shadows eased off the ground and pushed through to the garage. Across the front towards the house. They went into their jackets and took out pistols. Held them pointed at the ground and went one at a time for the front porch. 

They re-grouped and eased slowly over the old timbers. Ended up squatting on the floor, backs pressed against the house, one on either side of the front door, pistols out and ready. She'd gone in this way. She'd come back out. Just a matter of time…

Danny waited. For his own amusement and his father's anger, he called the two morons back from the 'office' and said some 'inspirational' things so that they would hurry up and come. All it took was for him to call over and say, "I'm pissed." and then, fucking- _poof! _-as if by some sort of fucking asshole magic, the two idiots would appear. This 'office' turned out to be right behind the trees near where he was. It also turned out that they were watching what the hell he was doing for Conan. Conan, that bastard. _He thinks I can't do it? Well, I damn well can. But why should I do it? Because he told me to? Fuck no. _

And I assure you, Conan. Today, someone _will_ get hurt…

* * *

She found a battered leather suitcase in the den closet and loaded the concertinas straight into it. Forced the lid down tight and snapped it shut. Angelo picked up an old photograph from the desk and looked at it. It was a picture of Kathryn's mother, smiling happily, a boy and a girl on either side of her, her arms pulling them close. The boy had a sarcastic, 'Why-do-I-have-to-take-this-damned-photo-thingy.' look, his arms folded across his chest. The girl was smiling, her arms also folded but one hand was giving the finger. The kids looked about twelve. 

"Katy." he said. Serious. Hurt. She knew that tone.

She stopped packing and forced herself not to look up at him.

"Did you…" he tried to say. "…Did you resent it?" he asked. "The way she thought about me? As family?"

She paused in the doorway and nodded. "I resented it like hell." she said. "And one day, I'll tell you exactly why…"

* * *

Angelo was looking out the window, peering through the blinds. It was almost dark. The view was powerful. The wide, beautiful river kept rolling by, whatever people did about the houses and the yards that dotted its banks. It reminded him a lot of Lara. She was almost so beautiful and being back here with the woman who used to be his best friend was not helping. She looked a lot _like_ Lara…. 

Like Lara…

"I'm ready." Kathryn called. Angelo turned around, hands thrust in his pockets. She was carrying a leather garment bag. She had brushed her hair, and the static had kicked a couple of strands outward. She was smoothing them back with her hand, hooking them behind her ears. The black shirt picked up her eyes in a way and emphasized the pale honey of her skin.

The many years had done her no harm at all.

They walked in silence through to the kitchen and bolted the door to the yard. Turned off all the appliances they could see and screwed faucets tight shut. Came back out into the hallway. "I resented it like crazy." she said softly. Angelo was quiet, unsure of what to say. It felt like being punched in the face…_hard_…by a _woman_. Ah, fuck it. And then, they opened the front door...


	8. When danger knocks, slam the door

**EIGHT**

D'Angelo Spencer was first out through the door for a number of reasons. A number of stupid, bloody reasons. Normally, he might have let Kathryn go out ahead of him, and then, eventually, he would push her and laugh. But that would be giving away that he had manners on actually letting her go first. So, he went first for some stupid reason.

But that stupid reason seemed to save their lives.

So for all those stupid reasons, he was first to step out onto the porch, and so he was the first person the two men saw. _Okay, since you followed me -which was very obvious because your car tends to have the effect on saying, "LOOK AT ME! I'M FOLLOWING YOU BECAUSE MY OTHER BOSS TOLD ME TO, AND I LIKE KISSING HIS ASS BECAUSE I'M A GOOD SLAVE."- I'm gonna let you waste your life and time on trying to kill him for me. Go on, skip if you must! Skip! _, That was what Mr. Nightshade had told them.

What a 'wonderful' boss.

Carl was on the left, tensed up and ready, so it took his brain a lot less than a second to process what his optic nerve was feeding it. He felt the front door open, he saw the screen swinging out, he saw somebody stepping onto the porch, he saw it was the guy coming first and he fired.

Brandon was on the right, the screen creaked open right in his face. That made him hesitate fractionally and then scramble up and forward around the arc of the frame. He grabbed it backhanded with his left and pulled it into his body and folded himself around it with his right hand swinging up and into position.

"Wake up Dr. Spencer and pay attention!"

Angelo knew in an instant. He was in his early thirties and his memory stretched back through maybe thirty of those years to the dimmest early fragments of his childhood, and that memory was filled with absolutely nothing except his mom and dad. He remembered them arguing. And he somehow remembered this little boy. He knew the boy but in another way, he didn't know him. When he first saw the two men with guns, there was no shock, no surprise, no gasping, freezing fear of panic. No pausing, no hesitation, no inhabitations.

Just instant reaction to something like being back in the hospital. Knowing instantly what to do when something goes wrong. Kathryn's heavy suitcase was in his left hand, swinging forward as he laboured with it over the threshold. He did a lot of things at once. First, he kept the swing going, using all the new strength in his left shoulder to kick the case onward and outward.

In unbearable slow motion, he looked from left to right at the two men. And then, that's when things returned to reality. There was the bullet. Nothing but metal. He wind milled his right arm backward and shoved Kathryn in the chest, pushing her back inside the hallway.

She staggered a step back and the moving suitcase caught the first bullet. He felt the kick and shock in his hand. It slowed him down, he jerked it right to the end of the swing, leaning out into the porch, and it hit Carl a glancing blow in the face.

Carl was half up and half down, crouching, unstable, and the blow form the case rolled him over backward and out of the picture. But Angelo didn't seem him go down, because his attention was already to the source of the noise. That noise was a gunshot. He heard Kathryn yell. Angelo used the momentum of the swinging suitcase to turn himself to his left. He let the handle pull out through his hooked fingertips and it flew in the air, smashing into Brandon's face. The shock wave went back and up through the hinge of Brandon's jaw, which is a sturdy enough joint that the force was carried undiminished up into the guy's brain.

Angelo could tell from the rubbery way he fell across his back that he was out for a spell. Then, the screen door was creaking shut against its spring and Carl was scrambling sideways across the porch floorboards for his gun, which was skittering away from him. Kathryn was framed in the doorway, gasping for breath. The suitcase was toppling end over end out on to the front lawn.

He was quickly out of breath. And he felt numb but he wasn't fucking stupid. He looked at the guy scrambling for the gun and then back at Kathryn. She was separated from him by about nine feet, and Carl was right between the two of them. If he grabbed the gun and lined it up to his right, he would be lined up on her. Angelo threw himself at the door, batten the screen back and fell inside. "Fucking move it, Katy!" he dragged Kathryn a yard into the hallway and slammed the door shut.

It kicked and banged three times as Carl fired after him and dust and wood splinters blasted out into the air. He clicked the lock, crouching and then pulling Kathryn across the floor to the kitchen. "Where's the fucking garage?"

"Through the kitchen door, there's a…backyard. You'll see it." she gasped.

As they passed the kitchen, he snatched something from the wall. He closed it into his fist. He shoved the kitchen door open. He saw the garage. It was one of those doors you needed to pull up. But this one was wooden. He sprinted and opened his fist, using the keys he took. He slammed one into the hole and turned it and yanked it up. Kathryn was running after him. She fell into the garage and he slammed the door behind her. Locked it and listened. They were leaning sideways to the door, facing each other.

There was no sound. Angelo listened hard. He was starting to sweat. Kathryn looked at him, they both tried to catch their breath. But Angelo's was more ragged and slow. Kathryn looked at him and her eyes widened with horror. "Your…your bleeding." Angelo looked down, his hand moved up to his side. He held his hand in front of his face, it was red with blood. "Yeah." he said, sounding very confused and bewildered. "People…people tend to do that when they get shot, Katy."

He looked around the garage. It was dark space, open rafters, open framing, smelling of old motor oil and creosote. It was full of garage things, mowers and hoses and law chairs, but they were very old things, the belongings of a woman who stopped buying new stuff years ago. The floor was smooth poured concrete, aged and swept to a shine. Kathryn's car was a new Ferrari 360 Modena.It is a car synonymous with power, performance, and speed. When many think of their "dream car" it's a sleek, rumbling Ferrari going 180 miles per hour down the highway.Since it's humble beginnings in 1947, the Ferrari stable has always been stocked with some magnificent machines. It was a fast car. Beautiful, too. It was coated silver. The engine was V8 40 valve. Horsepower: 400 bhp at 8,500 rpm. Torque: 275 lb-ft at 4,750 rpm. Performance was 0-60 mph - 4.3 seconds. Top speed was 186 mph. Transmission, Manual or Semi Auto, was 6 Speed. Brakes: Brembo Vented Discs. Displacement: 3,586 cc and weight was 3,100 lbs. He whistled. But this was no time to admire the car. It was a car he really liked. But still, like he said- Not the time.

"Get in the back. Down on the floor…" he breathed. Kathryn looked at him, concerned. "Down to the floor, Okay?" he asked her. She nodded, not looking away from him. They looked at each other for a while, Angelo's breathing slowed again. "…I'm sorry." he said. He looked away. "Get in the car." She walked away and opened the car door, crawling in head first, she laid down across the transmission hump. Angelo peered out of the garage. No movement, no sound.

He came back to the car and slid the key in and switched on the ignition so he could rack the electric seat all the way back to the end of its runners. Then, he got out of the car. He went to the tool area of garage and to the desk. There was an eight-by-four pegboard with a full set of household tools neatly arranged on it. Angelo selected a heavy carpenter's hammer and lifted it down. He opened the side door of the garage and stepped out to the yard. Angelo threw the hammer over arm, wincing at the pain, diagonally right over the house, to send it crashing into the undergrowth he had seen at the front.

"One…Two…Three…Fou--" he didn't finish up to four because he was already getting reaction from the guy. There was a yell. Funny if the guy got hit. Angelo ran back inside the garage and ducked inside the car. Stood alongside the open door and turned the key, arm's length. He fired it up, looking at the garage door. The engine started instantly. "Say, Kathryn? How strong is that garage door?"

Kathryn realised what he was talking about and buried her head under her hands. "Ohh shit." came the muffled reply. He threw himself into the driver's seat. Kathryn shut her eyes but nothing happened. She opened them again. Angelo sat there, laughing slightly, amused. That wild grin in his face. "Don't you just miss the old times?"

"Fuck you." she shouted at him, as he smashed the selector into reverse and stamped on the pedal. All four tyres howled and then bit on the smooth concrete.

The vehicle shot forward into the garage, breaking through the wooden door. The guy with the Berretta was way off to his left on the front lawn, spinning to look at them, surprised. He accelerated all the way up the driveway and lurched backward into the road. Braked fiercely and spun the wheel, all the while, Kathryn was screaming, _"G'dammit! I hate you! I fucking hate you!", _he found drive and took off in a haze of blue tyre smoke. He accelerated hard for thirty yards, passing the trees where Danny's car was hidden.

* * *

Danny watched the silver Ferrari pass and smiled to himself- laughing, actually -at Carl who almost got hit my the hammer. "Oh fuck…" he laughed. He did, after all, say that _someone_ will get hurt… "Fuck, God help me, I fucking _love_ this job!" he laughed again, "…Conan's gonna be sooo pissed."

* * *

He coasted to a gentle stop just beyond the neighbour's driveway. He selected reverse again and idled backward into it and down into the plantings. He killed the motor. Kathryn struggled up off the floor, her hand on her chest, gasping for breath. "What are we doing here?" she said. "We're waiting until they fuck off." She gasped, halfway between outrage and astonishment. "We are _not_ waiting, Spencer. We're going straight to the police." she stuttered looking at the blood seeping through his shirt. "…or…or…to the hospital." 

"No we're not."

"Your fucking bleeding to death! We are going to that hospital." she said sternly.

"Why?"

_Why?_ Kathryn thought, surprised_. Why not?_ He was _bleeding_ to deathHe should get to a hospital. Fuckin idiot. Fuckin idiot's ego. He was so worked up on trying to save people that he forgot to save himself. "Oh, let me think. There are two men after us, I'm pretty fucking scared, aaanndd you just got fucking shot!" she said, the last part she was screaming.

"Please." she pleaded. "Come on."

"No." he said. "I can't go to the police with this. Not even the hospital." he breathed. Leaning back in his seat. Closing his eyes. "We'll go to your apartment…but we'll need the suitcase back."

She saw his chest rise up and down slowly. She saw all the blood. His shirt that was earlier white, turned red. "Damn it, Spence. Would you just tell me why?"

"Because they'll start looking at me for Hardway." Angelo replied.

"You didn't kill him."

"Sure. And they'll believe me as much as they believed pigs could fly."

"But they have to…Because it wasn't you. Simple as that."

"All the evidence points to me. So basically, in their eyes, I fucking murdered Hardway." he said. "Simple as that." he added, with much effort and strain. "Would you at least go to a hospital? Have them take the bullet out?" she argued.

"And have them ask about how I got shot? No." he said.

"Your totally unbelievable, you know that? We should go to the police, Spence--"

"You remember when we first met, Katy?" he interrupted. She trailed off and nodded. "Yeah…" she said. "I do…" Actually, she remembered it like it was yesterday. Sooo, not so much. But still, she remembered it…She was being teased by a couple of boys when she was a kid and Spence helped her out. She was grateful for that.

"We tried to tell your mom, remember? And their parents…but they wouldn't listen." he said. She continued for him, "Yeah. And so we had to do things ourselves. You kicked ass."

Crafty Veteran, was what they called him. Lies, excuses, pranks, all of it was genius. And let's just say, the bullies didn't smell good for a couple of weeks.

We had to do things ourselves…

"Okay." she said, slowly. "If…if your okay."

He nodded. "I am." he paused and listened. There was the sound of a motor starting up. Maybe a big V-8, maybe a hundred yards away. There was the rattle of big tyres on a distant stony driveway. The burble of acceleration. Then a black shape flashed across their view, two guys were in it, dark suits, one of them driving and the other slumped back in his seat. Soon, there was another car. Like any other car. Driving slow and normal. No haste.

Probably just a civilian…Angelo stuck his head all the way out of the window and listened to the sound as it died to silence in the direction of town.

"Are they gone?"

"For our sake, I hope so…"


	9. Scratch that idea

**NINE**

The suitcase was still there, lying on the front lawn. There was a bullet hole punched in one end. No exit hole. The bullet must have gone through the leather, through the sturdy plywood carcass, and burned into a stop against the packed paper inside. If it wasn't that thick, the bullet would have gone through and smashed into his other side. That's not good. Like he hadn't got enough bullet wounds. He grimaced as he bent down and lifted it up, one hand on his side, pressing onto the wound. Petals of blood seeped through the shirt.

He swore creatively under his breath as he limped, carrying the suitcase back to join Kathryn over at the garage. Earlier as they made their way out of the garage, he used the small shelf for support and…let's just say the shelf was full of heavy things ready to fall right at your foot, how's that for an explanation? Kathryn waited for him by the jeep five minutes after she had locked up. He guessed that it was very quiet neighbourhood. The kind of neighbourhood with a kind of hunting place near by.

If Kathryn locked up and made everything look normal, nobody would check out the place. No police would be called. It would be like any ordinary hunting day. "So what now, Spence?" Kathryn asked as they got into the car. She helped him in, her tone was of concern and he knew -_oh, he knew_- exactly what she was thinking. He was fine, dammit. "Hit me on the side…just a scratch. Nothing serious." If he had said that a few years ago, back when he was a doctor, he would have literally slapped himself. This was _deathly_ serious…

The engine was idling, the air roaring to combat the sun beating down on the Ferrari's silver paint. The vents were angled all over the place, and he was catching Kathryn's perfume mixed in with the Freon blast. For thirty minutes, the car swiftly drove down the road, without a word from either one. He had never expected to see her again. He assumed he would lose track of his childhood friend and neighbour and never see her again. But there he was, sitting right next to her, breathing in her fragrance. His eye-lids felt heavy as his fingers tightened on his grip on the wound.

Sixteen years. Was that a long time or a short time? Does it change a person? It felt like a short time to him. He didn't feel radically different from the person he had been sixteen years before. The pig-headness was still there. The arrogance. The whole Jackass personality, it was all there, all right. He was the same person, thinking the same way, capable of the same things, and maybe even more. He had acquired a thick gloss of experience during those years. He felt she had to be different.

More responsible, more _feminine_. He would have chuckled, but he didn't. In a way, your side tends to hurt when you laugh. Especially when you've been shot. Ooh, yeah. Especially when you've been shot. So now, he felt he was in uncharted waters, unsure of how to relate to her, because he dealing with separate things, all competing in his head; the reality of her as a kid, sixteen years ago, and then the way he had imagined her to turn out, and then there was the way she really had turned out.

"We're going to find the link…use brains…find answers..." Angelo mumbled. His voice rough and tired, "…knock some heads together…" She smiled to herself, "…eat pizza…"

He knew one thing: she was still so easy. He could say one word and she would forget about everything else. She suddenly frowned, realization dawning, "But…I've got to go to work. If you don't want them to go suspicious or something, I have to go."

"Can't you take a sick leave?" Angelo asked, perplexed, as he inched up the seat next to her, wincing at the slight prick of pain at his side. "No." she said suddenly, before he could even finish his sentence. "I…_have_…to…go." she repeated, slowly and clearly, like how an impatient kindergarten teacher would talk to her students when they pronounced a word wrong. There were much debating inside the silver Ferrari but the superior one achieved victory. She recited the address of her work. "Ten blocks away. I usually walk."

"Not tomorrow." Angelo shook his head, or at least tried to. "I'll drive you there…"

Her expression was a mix of surprise and confusion. "You will?"

"Damn right I will, Katy." he said. "Ten blocks on foot? You can go ahead and scratch that idea…that makes you a bloody easy target. Your not easy. You'll be safe enough at home, but they could grab you on the street. What about your office? Is it secure?"

She nodded again. "Nobody gets in without an appointment or, and, an ID." she paused and spoke what she had been wondering about ever since the whole conversation started, "…how do you know all these stuff, Angelo? I thought you were a doctor…" Images of five unbelievable fucking years flashed into his mind. Vampires--fangs--blood--death--…and then _her_. A scream. Of pain--Fury--Anguish--and then _laughter_…

"You can't run away from me…"

"Spence?"

His mind snapped and he found himself wondering why. What could he have done to prevent all this from happening? What could he have done to prevent these past five years? These fucking _hell _of years? …there were lots of answers. Lots. "…A few people…influenced me…"

She bit her lower lip for some reason and continued driving. That was followed by another time of nothing but silence. "…so, yeah, my office is secure." she said, shattering the eerie silence between them. "Okay." Angelo said. "So I'll be playing sleepover tonight, and I'll drive you door to door in the morning. Then, I'll come back and do all the sorts of shit I'm meant to do. You can stay there in the office until I come get you out again, okay?" She was silent. He tracked back and reviewed what he'd said.

"I mean, you got a spare room, right?"

"Sure," she said. "There's…there's a spare room."

"So, is that OK?"

She nodded, quietly. She looked at him. The blast of air from the centre vents caught her hair and blew it over her face. She smoothed it back behind her ear and her eyes flicked him up and down. Then, she smiled. "…You bet your ass. I'm cool with you being there…" she punched him on the arm in a boyish kind of way. "…you're my buddy, _buddy_."

He stared at her. "Are you on drugs?"

"What are you, a jackass?"

"Are you seriously asking _me_ that question?"

She turned to look back at the road and smiled to herself. "Yeah, but you're a good jackass, doc. You can treat your own bullet wound once we get there. There's a big health kit thing in my kitchen. That might help…" An hour later, it was dark, which was the best condition. Angelo felt like a little tourist guy as they swooped around the ramp and up over the hump of the span, soon, they could see the billion bright lights everywhere. "Go a few blocks west," he said. "We'll come in from a distance…" he paused, the air around him was suddenly warm and hot, making it almost impossible to breathe, "…they'll be expecting us to come straight home."

"Why? Maybe their not here…"

"First rule," he said. "Predictability is unsafe."

"You serious?"

"You bet your ass."

"What am I, a VIP?" she asked.

"You bet your ass…" he said again.

* * *

"So, you didn't kill him…" He had stopped tapping. He sat still and the colour drained out of his face, leaving his skin dead white, realization dawning in on him. He sat there for a long time, with those words on his lips. He just sat and stared into space, then he lifted his hook off the desk and rotated it in front of his eyes, slowly, examining it as if it were something special. He allowed the thin beams of light from the blinds to catch its curves and contours. It was trembling, so he took it in his other hand and held it still. 

"…you let him go…" he whispered, staring at the hook. Then he transferred his gaze at the young man sitting relaxed at the chair across from him. He glared at him, his gaze dark and frightening. The hook hit the wood of the table with a soft but threatening _'thunk'_. "Could've done it yourself, Conan." Danny said. "…I actually thought that good-for-nothing hook didn't make you look like a disabled idiot this time. You kind of look terrifying… and sometimes, when your lucky enough, you tend to have that effect to every woman who is unfortunate enough to have been forced to have sex with you…so, I guess it's normal."

The hook scraped the wood and Danny smiled, shaking his head, "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't talking about the hook. Oh, _no_. Cheap women are fine with the hook…they tend to bleed, but they're fine…it's your puny ass balls their fucking scared off." Through a wimp's eyes, you could see flames firing out from under Conan's nostrils but in Danny's…you'd be confident. And that's something you should give him credit for.

Conan forced a sardonic smile as he pushed back in his chair and stood up, "…Well, I know your mother was intently happy…more than she ever was with that father of yours." The smile from Danny's face vanished. And through Conan' eyes, you could see a visual of what was mentally happening in there…a scared little boy was sitting across Conan, near tears. Scared to death. His eyes cloudy. The vision instantly changed, and there was no trace of anything, except a reaction from Danny. Conan came out from behind the desk, grinning, and he stepped over and stopped still, directly behind Danny who just sat there, too traumatized to move, not daring to turn around to look. Not daring to look the devil in the eyes.

Conan looked down at his '_son_' and smiled. Danny wore a size sixteen collar, which made his neck a fraction over five six inches in diameter, assuming a human neck is more or less a uniform cylinder, which was an approximation Conan had always been happy to make. Danny could feel the man's ragged breathing, his face right beside Danny's. Smiling. Grinning. And Conan got the reaction he expected, making his smile broaden. Danny whimpered. Conan's hook was a simple steel curve, like a capital letter J, generously sized.

The inside diameter of the curve was four and three-quarter inches. He moved fast, as if someone who has done this many times before, darting the hook out and forcing it over Danny's throat from behind. Danny tilted his head back. His eyes watery and clouded. Conan's frozen grin never leaving his face. "How's about it now, Dan? Still like that good for nothing father of yours? Even after what he did?" Conan stepped back and pulled with all his strength. Danny threw himself upward and backward, his fingers scrabbling under the cold metal to relieve the gagging pressure. Conan smiled and pulled harder.

"…I still don't understand it, though. Why leave such a beautiful woman for another?" Danny got more frantic and violent, his legs kicking at the air, trying to knock down a table.

Conan chuckled. "Aww, I get it. Ever since _he _left your mother, she's been a drunken whore…but I suppose she's got a reason." Conan teased. "…you're a nutcase, Danny." he continued, the smile fading away into a straight and serious face. "…you murdered all those people just to get mommy's love and attention…no wonder she's been beating your sorry ass up. Is that the case, Dan? Am I right?"

He tugged on it once again. "Am I Right? Huh? _Am - I - right_, Danny?" He pulled until the gagging turned to fractured wheezing and the struggling began to slow down. His legs settled back down on the ground, slowly trying to kick on the carpet. Conan eased off an inch and bent close to Danny's ear. "…Am I right, you son of a bitch? Huh? You twisted _sicko_? Am I _fucking_ right!" Danny was wheezing and coughing. Conan twisted the hook, which relieved the pressure on Danny's voice box, but brought the tip up into the soft area under his ear.

"Am I right?" Conan asked softly. Danny knew that with the hook at that angle, any extra rearward pressure was going to put the tip right through his skin into that vulnerable triangle behind the jaw. Now, he's no doctor but he's pretty sure that does _something! _Danny gasped for air, his heart was thumping. Why was this happening? How did this happen? He had never…_ever_…given in. Especially not to this bastard.

Conan kept the hook in position, waiting, but Danny didn't do anything. He didn't nod. He didn't agree at all. "…This is no joke, Wes. This concerns me just as much as it concerns you…now, bring me Ms. Skyler…" Danny nodded as languorously as the hook would allow his head to move. Conan slipped the hook away and Danny collapsed sideways, gasping and retching into the fabric of the sofa.

"You can do whatever you want with D'Angelo. After all…" he bent down and whispered it in Danny's ear. Chuckling maniacally, Conan straightened up and turned around, walking away.


	10. Disengage The Simulator

**TEN**

There was a flight of metal steps up to a big industrial door, which had a steel sheet riveted over it. The door had a big lock, same as on the glass doors to the street. They got out and locked the car, Spence walked with no help and support and with much effort he acted like he had it all together. All under control. But truth was, THIS FUCKING HURTS! Yeah, big surprise, isn't it? He carried her briefcase and they walked to the steps and up to the door. She worked the lock and opened it for him. The lobby was empty and there was a single elevator opposite them.

"Ten." she said. Spence slammed his hand on eleven. Kathryn watched him do it and suddenly felt sorry for him. The last time she had seen him was when he was a doctor, and after that, it was as if he forgot her. Like she was just a memory, like he had found something much more important. He had been so miserable back then. His life sounded lonely to her. And it was…It was work, home, work, home. A life of never ending dying and carpools. After a while, she had figured out that he was really happy at work, even though he didn't show it, and that the reason was because he had nothing waiting for him at home. Just cold food and an invisible person to greet him. Happy to save lives…but what if karma turns around and bites you?

They entered the elevator and Spence leaned on the wall. Today should have been one of the worst days of his life, but it wasn't. It was one of the best. If he hadn't gone to meet Kathryn, where would he be now? Alone is some fucking bar, drinking god knows what, that's where. But there was also a reason for that. Even for that…because with beer, he would just fall asleep. He didn't have to think. Dream. Or wonder, 'what if'….what if…And most of all, he wasn't reminded in the same painful way, that he had nothing. They used the fire stairs and came back down to ten just in case. He had her wait on the landing and peered out.

It was a deserted hallway. Tall and Narrow. Apartment thirty nine to the left, forty to the right, and forty one straight ahead. Her door was black and thick. Spy hole at eye level, two locks. She used the keys and they went inside. She locked up again and dropped an old hinged bar into place, right across the whole doorway. Spence pressed it down in its brackets. It was iron, and as long as it was there, nobody else was going to get in. He put her briefcase against the wall as she flicked the switch and the light came on. She relaxed and knew he wasn't. It was obvious and this reaction made her look directly away from him, more tense than she'd been all day. He noticed this and understood.

She was just standing right beside him, and they were both leaning on the door as if trying to keep someone out, her sweatshirt cuffs way down over her hands, fidgeting. He had no idea what was wrong with her. They were safe, weren't they? "…Are you…okay?" he asked and finally, she looked at him. A look of arousing appreciation passed between them. He looked at her, something visible in his eyes. She just didn't know what. Kathryn looked deep into his eyes, remembering how much she had missed her best friend, and in an instant, she snapped back into reality and ducked her head forward and back in a figure eight to drop her hair behind her shoulders. She pushed herself from the door and walked further into the living room. "I'm going to take a shower," she said. "You know, hit the sack…"

"Hell of a day, right?"

She paused by the door and looked back, smiling warmly at him, "Unbelievable." her eyes looked him up and down, and she smiled once more. "Goodnight, Mr Jackass." and with that, she disappeared down the inner doorway. He heard her bedroom door open and close. He stared after her for a long moment, surprised. It was usual for her to forget. Especially about something as big as a guy bleeding to death in your spare room. But he was completely fine with it, he didn't want her to worry about anything else and she told him where the health kit was anyway.

He pushed himself from the door and looked around the apartment as he walked further into the living room. It wasn't really a loft, as such. It was like an old building with very high ceilings, was all. The shell was original. It had probably been industrial. The inside walls was like the outside walls, sandblasted brick. The windows were huge and the floor was pale maple strips. The décor was cool and neutral, like an art gallery of some shit. No offence or anythin'. There was no sign that more than one person had ever lived there. No sign of two tastes competing. The whole place was very unified.

There was a tall cabinet opposite the smallest sofa, and was a small TV in it, a video, cable box, a CD player with a pair of large headphones plugged into the jack. A small stack of CDs, mostly rock and roll or sad songs that would cheer you up. He picked one up and looked at it. Celine Dion. Hm. --_"Celine Dion is Canadian Treasure, you know."--_King would have loved that. But King was gone. He had left…just like everyone else in his life. _A little sad, I know, _but he wasn't going to take pity. It hurt him too much, and he was man enough to admit it.

He glanced out the window. There was the constant wash of traffic hum, neon blaze from up and down the street, an occasional siren wailing and booping and blasting loud as it came out through the gaps between blocks. The kitchen was huge and tall. All the cupboards were wood, and the appliances were industrial sizes in stainless steel, like pizza ovens. He had lived in places smaller than the refrigerator. He pulled it open and saw a dozen bottles of Jack Daniels. Maybe she had changed. Maybe they had grown apart. Maybe…she didn't look at him as her best friend anymore…

The mere idea scared him. It scared her that her mother had thought of him as family. _"It bothered the hell out of me…and one day, I'll tell you exactly why…" _He closed the fridge with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand. He noticed the photograph of her and her mother stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Did she hate him for leaving? He took the health kit with him to the spare bedroom. The walls were a natural brick colour and everything was dark and cozy, like it had been in her mother's house. He put the Jack Daniels on the night table and used the bathroom, he carefully took his shirt off and slowly and patiently tried to dress the wound, wincing from time to time. The bathroom had white tiles, white sink, white tub, but everything else was decorative.

_Illusion and reality. _What was nine years, anyway? A lot, he guessed as he threw back the cover and slid into bed. He fell into thinking. _She was nice, smart, and goddamn beautiful. Other men would have done something_._ Why wasn't he?_ Maybe it wasn't because of the best friend thing. Maybe it wasn't because of the fact that she hated him, the fact that she looked tense and suspicious around him. Maybe it was just her mother. She was her daughter, and always would be. It gave him the guilty illusion she was somewhere between his kid sister and his niece. But still, her mother was dead so why not now? As his eyelids closed, he didn't even have any idea why he was asking himself this, maybe it was because it was just unusual…All he knew was that he did love her, in a way a brother would love his sister, but what he didn't know was that on the other side of the wall, Kathryn was thinking the same exact thing…

_

* * *

_What was nine years, anyway? A lot, he guessed as he threw back the cover and slid into bed. He fell into thinking. Maybe it wasn't because of the best friend thing. Maybe it wasn't because of the fact that she hated him, the fact that she looked tense and suspicious around him. Maybe it was just her mother. She was her daughter, and always would be. It gave him the guilty illusion she was somewhere between his kid sister and his niece. But still, her mother was dead so why not now? As his eyelids closed, he didn't even have any idea why he was asking himself this, maybe it was because it was just unusual…All he knew was that he love her, in a way a brother would love his sister, but what he didn't know was that on the other side of the wall, Kathryn was thinking the same exact thing… 

Reeford Royals had driven home at the normal time and said nothing to his wife. There was nothing he could say. The deal with Daniel Nightshade had left him bewildered. His whole world had turned inside out in about two days. He just couldn't get a handle on it. He planned to ignore it until morning and then go see Nightshade to try and talk some sense. In his heart, he didn't believe he could save _her_…_The young woman in the photograph_…_his daughter_……..

Kathryn Royals.

* * *

Kathryn woke early that morning, which was unusual for her. Normally, she slept soundly right up to the point when her father and mother appeared in her dream, shouting angrily. She remembered that night. The night when her father had packed up and left them. Her mother was crying…as if someone had just died. And to Kathryn, it felt exactly like that. And that ended up to the point when her alarm went off and she had to drag herself out of bed and into the bathroom, sleepy and slow. But that morning, she was awake an hour before she had to be, alert, breathing lightly, heart racing gently in her chest after her mother started appearing in her dream, telling her about something, warning her. But she didn't hear what she was saying. She was pointing at Kathryn's car, shouting. Her voice was faint. 

Her bedroom was cozy, like all her rooms, and her bed was a king with a wood frame the same colour as her floor, set with the head against the wall opposite the window. The guest room was back to back with her room, laid out in exactly the same way, symmetrically, but in reverse, because it faced in the opposite direction. Which meant that his head was about eighteen inches away from hers. Just through the wall. Not that it meant anything but it always felt odd when he was around. Like something stupid and dangerous was about to happen.

Yesterday should have been the worst day of her life. She had buried her mother, her 'last' relative on earth. She had been attacked by guys with guns. People she knew were in therapy for much less. She should be prostrate with misery and shock. But she wasn't. Yesterday had been the best day of her life. He had appeared like some sort of wonderful illusion right at her doorstep. Her best friend. Her heart was thumping excitedly in her heart, ready for danger, like a drug howling through her veins, like claps of thunder. She had just finished showering when she finally stopped thinking about it and spent five minutes on her teeth with her new toothbrush. She spat in the sink and looked at herself in the mirror, laughed slightly when she smiled and then dried off. Kathryn's hair was dark with water and wore on oversized white T-shirt that finished above her knees and wandered through to the kitchen for something to eat.

Spence was in there, fresh from the shower, his brown hair wet and dark was spiked up, and he was wearing jeans without a shirt, _thanks to the bullet wound. _She caught her breath. _Yep, thaaaannnk you bullet wound! _He looked her up and down. "Morning, Kathryn."

"Morning, Spence." she said back. She sat down and she found herself looking at him. her eyes were all over him. Something in her face. "The wound…" she looked up at his face. "…how is it?" he squinted down and winced as he straightened up and leaned back in his chair. "It--it hurts…" he said, nodding in agreement to himself. He looked pale and didn't look well…not one bit. "You sick?" she asked. "I heard you coughing last night…"

"A little bit…"

"Hold on. I got something." she turned around and opened the cupboard just above the fridge. Her hand wandered around until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a brown bag and opened it, pulling out the Vics Vaporub ointment. Kathryn sat down in front of him and unscrewed the cap. Pierced the metal seal with the plastic spike and scooped some out with her hand. "Hey…" he said when she came close. She looked at him and rolled her eyes. "…_You_ wanna do it?"

"No." he whined like a five-year-old but he let her do it anyway. She rubbed some into his bare chest and concentrated, trying not to hurt him in any way because of the few bruises he had, her tongue was between her teeth as she concentrated. She was sure she had stopped breathing as soon as she touched him. Her heart started racing and her breathing got more difficult. She stepped away when he coughed. "Hurting?" she asked. "What?" She repeated, "Was I hurting you?"

"Yeah." Spence said. "Well…" she paused, thinking of something to say. Anything. "…But you needed it." He relaxed. "I guess," he said and she carefully continued, and soon, the crisis was past. She screwed the cap back on and he moved away, relaxing on the chair. She put the ointment on the table as he ate an apple. "I'll go and get dressed." she said. "We should get moving." He raised his bottle of water in a fraction of response and she disappeared back into her bedroom. He stood up and ate the apple as he shrugged on a shirt and tucked it in. He found his socks and shoes and jacket. Strolled through to the living room to wait.

* * *

Daniel Nightshade had the hand of the woman from before and carried it back to the office at six twenty. It was wrapped in the plastic, parcelled up in yesterday's Post and tucked carelessly under his arm. He had skipped breakfast that morning but what really ticked him off was the fact that he was forced to drive through the park which he truly hated because it reminded him too much about his childhood. He had parked in the underground garage and rode up to the correct floor. Brandon was already at the brass-and-oak counter. But he could tell from the stillness that nobody else was in. 

He held up the plastic bag, like a trophy. "Can you get rid of this?" he threw the plastic bag and the new guy caught it one-handed. "Okay, Mr. Nightshade." There was a small office kitchen off the reception lobby. It was cramped and messy, like office kitchens are. Coffee rings on the counters, mugs with stains on the inside. The refrigerator was a miniature item under the counter and Brandon shoved milk and fruits aside and folded the bag into what space was left. "Your nose okay, Brandon?" Danny asked. He was now in the kitchen doorway. Brandon paused and looked directly inside the fridge, Danny was smiling behind him. Brandon had a bruise on his face from yesterday, thanks to Mr. Angelo, "…Yes, of course, sir."

"Good…because target for today is Ms. Skyler. Neighbours say she always leaves at seven o'clock, walks to work." Danny said casually. "It's a couple of blocks from here." Brandon nodded and straightened up to face his boss. Danny nodded.

"I'll drive…you take care of the target."

* * *

Spence had put some good thought into it. Truth was, he didn't learn all this shit from hunting vampires. He learned it on one of those boring, rainy days where you stay inside and talk…with King. Hannibal King knew almost everything there was to criminals, kidnapping, and other sorts of crime. They would sit down and watch a couple of movies and King would helpfully point out what the cops did wrong, what real cops would have done and he also predicted things before they happened. 

He bent forward from the waist and put his whole upper body out through the window. He craned his head around to the right and gazed down the street. He looked at the scene. There was nothing obvious. Nothing to worry about yet. It was pretty clear what they were going to aim for and do. And Spence was ready for that.

"I'm ready," Kathryn called to him.

* * *

_A/N: Haha...so bored.  
Suck at action, suck at..at...car chases...and story plots..and...and...action.  
Suck at a lot of things but I'm still trying, aren't i?_


	11. Prepare to love a jackass

**A/N: **Whooooo! Car chases! Lol. Ever since having watched The Dukes Of Hazzard, watching car chases  
was like breathing to me. Well, maybe not breathing cos I'd be dead now. But like, a daily thing.

**

* * *

**

**ELEVEN**

The morning sun in the east flashed once in his eyes, and then he was through it, heading south. The first corner was thirty yards ahead. Traffic was very slow. Not stopped, just snail-like slow as if people didn't have enough problems. The light caught him six cars back from the turn. He was in the right lane, and he had no angle to see into the mouth of the cross street. Traffic poured right to left out of it, ahead of him, six cars away. There was still no sign of the ideal car that the men could be in. Maybe it was parked somewhere. Just there waiting for him to fuck up. Spence drove across the intersection with half of his attention focused sideways. Nothing there.

A few minutes later, he was three cars back. She watched him. He was _so_ tense. Just _so _tense. Maybe he didn't feel comfortable with her around anymore. They had had fun when they were kids but now, he acted so serious. Like a body guard…a body guard who forgot his seatbelt and his own safety. He only cared for her physically, acting like he owed it to her mother and it really ticked her off. Was this a burden to him? Seeing her was a problem? The light went green and the first car took off, then the second, then the third. He eased forward and checked everything out. Two lanes of stopped traffic, waiting at the light. Nothing parked up in the right lane. Nothing waiting.

He breathed out and relaxed and faced forward. There was a huge metallic bang. A tremendous loud metallic punch in his back, only it kept coming and coming. Tearing sheet metal, instant violent acceleration. The Ferrari was hurled forward and smashed into the vehicle ahead and stopped dead. Kathryn's airbag exploded and she was bouncing off her seat and crashing against the tension of her belt, her body stopping abruptly, her head still cannoning forward. Then it was bouncing backward off the airbag and whipping and smashing into the headrest behind her. His airbag exploded a split second after hers did and the twin impacts had torn his hands off the wheel. The airbag was collapsing in front of him.

"…They would do the amateur way but if I was going to kidnap someone…" King looked at him. "I would've done it in a way the target would never have expected."

He dragged his eyes to the mirror and felt wetness on the side of his head, he saw a giant black hood buried in the back of the Ferrari. One guy was in it, blurred by his vision due to the impact. He looked…so….familiar--His eyes widened and he was taken back to reality with a long and loud honk from a car behind them. Shit! There was a loud hissing coming from the Ferrari. Steam from the radiator or maybe just the ringing from his ears after the enormous sudden sounds. The guy was smiling at him, and he knew he could be seen.

Spence stamped on the gas, looking at the rear view mirror all the while. Kathryn gasped in surprise and held onto something, screaming. The Ferrari struggled forward, pushing against the woman's wrecked FTO. It made a yard, slewing to the left, sheet metal screeching. "What the _fuck_ are you doing!" Kathryn screamed.

"You'll see!"

He saw another guy on the rear view mirror. Grabbing at the door handle at the back seat, his other hand in his pocket. The same guy he saw back at house. "Fuck!" Spence yelled. "Get the fuck down, Katy!" He found reverse and howled back the yard he'd made and smashed into the car behind him but the guy was gone and out of the car when he looked again.

It won him another yard. He shoved the selector into drive and Kathryn looked at him with horror, shaking her head wildly, "No, no, no, no, no, nooooo!" she screamed as he spun the wheel and barged left. He stamped on the gas and hurled the Ferrari backward, spinning the wheel, beside him, Kathryn was praying, "Please make my _fucking_ car leave the street in one _piiieeeccceee_!" The guy kept a tight hold, jerked backward by his arm, flung off his feet by the violent motion. Spence smashed all the way backward into the black car and bounced off again forward, screaming the motor, spinning the wheel. The guy was up again, still gripping the door handle, jerking and hauling. Spence locked all the doors. The guy's spare arms and legs were flailing, like he was a wrangler and the Ferrari was a wild young steer in a desperate fight out of a trap.

Spence mashed the pedal and angled out forward close to the rear corner of the wrecked FTO and scraped the guy off against the trunk. In the mirror, Spence saw a blur of flailing arms and legs as his momentum carried him up over the roof. "Spence!" Kathryn screamed. The other guy was back behind the car, driving fast beside him, struggling to free something from his pocket. Spence was shocked when he realised who it was, everything happening in slow motion, a swirl of panic overcoming him and, then…- _BAM! _-…_"D'ANGELO!" _Everything returned back in an instant and Spence swerved left, the bullet hitting the side of the Ferrari, he came in parallel to a panel truck in the next lane. The first guy was up and running, skipping sideways, holding the door handle, coming out with something from his pocket.

"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!" Spence jammed left again and thumped him hard against the side of the car. He heard a dull boom as the guy's head hit the metal and then he was gone. The other car jammed to a panic stop and Spence hauled left and got in front of it. Ahead of him was a shimmering patchwork of metallic colours, sedan roofs winking in the sun, dodging left, dodging right, crawling forward, fumes rising, horns blasting. He hauled left again and turned and went through a crosswalk against the light, a crowd of jostling people skittering out of his way. The Ferrari was juddering and bouncing and pulling hard to the right. Steam was boiling up through the gaps around the buckles hood. The collapsed airbag was hanging down to his knees.

"Just for the record---I'm going to grill your freakin ass after this!" Kathryn said.

"Dully noted!" Spence jerked forward and hauled left again and jammed into an alley full of restaurant waste. Boxes, empty drums of cooking oil, rough wooden trays piled with spoiled vegetables. He buried the nose in a pile of cartons. They spilled down on the wrecked hood and fell inside Kathryn's window, some bouncing off the windshield. Spence killed the motor and pulled the keys. He had put it too close to the wall for Kathryn's door to open. First thing first, he had to get her to safety. "Give me your fucking license!" she screamed at him, absolutely terrified, breathing hard. He laughed slightly, "What license?"

She stared at him as he grabbed her suitcase and her purse and threw them out through his door. Squeezed out after them and turned back for her. "Come on, Katy." She glared at him, gave him the finger and then took his hand gratefully. "Yeah, well. Your welcome." he said, amused by the fast recovery. Her dress was riding up. He grabbed her around the waist and she ducked her head to his shoulder, she smiled to herself.

"Now I remember how bad your driving was."

"Oh, _now_ we're just hurting each other's feelings!"

Spence lifted her through the gap and she clung on hard, bare legs around his waist. He turned and walked six feet away, carrying her and her belongings.

"Oh, _please_. You _have_ no feelings. Your like a big evil robot to me…a robot with the _worst _brain for ideas. Seriously, bad ideas just flow through you."

He looked surprised and hurt. "What bad ideas?"

"Remember the time when you…" and she went on and on.

--In times like these, it's best to turn off your ears. I mean…just _pull _the plug because your not gonna here anything good anyways--

After five minutes, she asked, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry." he said. "My ears are out of order. The only thing they can't hear is bullshit."

She groaned, "Oh, this is exactly what I'm talking about! See? This is what's wrong with you. You just…" Mute. Total silence.

---See? Just nod and pretend your listening even though you've just agreed to the part that you're a f-- _beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee  
eeeeeeeeeep_ _Phew_. I think that took longer than a commercial break. O-kies, moving on!---

Her hair smelled like lavender and it reminded him of the cold, painful reality. Apart from Kathryn, there was no one else he really cared about. The others had all left…like everyone else in his life after his wife had died. His wife. Saying the word killed every happy, cheerful inch of him. Everytime. And he still had her things. Their things. Holding them at night, wishing she was still alive and drinking his way through till' morning, and when he wakes up, he gets the same dreadful feeling that whatever happened in his dreams, she would never be alive again. She'd never be alive. She's gone.

Spence set her on her feet and handed her back her bags, quiet. She was smoothing her dress over her thighs. Breathing hard. Damp hair all over the place. "How did you know that it wasn't some accident?" Spence handed her the purse and carried the heavy suitcase himself. Led her by the hand back down the alley to the street, running a hand down his hair, while trying to get rid of the blood, he was panting with adrenaline rush. "Walk and then, talk." He turned left and headed east. The morning sun was in their eyes, the river breeze in their faces. Behind them, they could hear the traffic snarl. They walked together fifty yards, breathing hard, calming down.

"Let me ask you something: what were the chances we'd be in an accident on the exact same morning we figured there were guys out looking for us?" Spence asked, out of breath, watching her reaction. She nodded. A slight smile on her face, head up, shoulders back, recovering fast. No trace of shock. She was Josephine Royals' daughter, that was for damn sure. "I'm sorry about the car?" He tried. She continued to smile and look ahead, "Stop reminding me or I swear I'll break your arm."

"Report it stolen. Say that someone else had taken it and crashed it. I can't afford being asked questions…I don't even have a license." Spence said. Kathryn thought about it. Then she smiled. "That works." she turned to him. "Ok…I mean, I know this really cool guy who can fix cars and make them look brand new…in 24 hours, 12 if he's enthusiastic and drunk. So, that's fine. I'll call people from the office." Spence looked surprised, "The office? You're not going to the damn office." And she was just as surprised as he was, "Why not?"

He waved vaguely back towards where the accident had occurred. "After what happened back there? Hell no. I want you were I can see you, Katy." he paused. "Think of me as Mrs. Norris, ya know? The one who used to baby-sit us when we were kids? Except I don't smell…" he said, before adding, "…and I'm not a woman."

"But I need to go to work, Spence." she said. "And be logical. The office hasn't become unsafe just because of what happened over there. It's a completely separate proposition, right? The office is still as safe now as it always was. You said it was okay before, what the hell changed?" He looked at her. He wanted to say _everything's changed. _

But he didn't, so he just shrugged lamely, "You should come with me," he said. "Why? To help you?" He hesitated then nodded. "You want me with you because I'm…Josephine's daughter?" she asked again. He looked at her, his eyes pleading and she knew the answer. Kathryn turned away and spotted a cab, she waved it down.

"Wrong answer, Spence."

He argued with her, but got nowhere. Her mind was made up, and she wouldn't change it. It was either go to work or just waltz right into the killers' hands. Which would you choose if you were an injured guy, _without_ a car, _without_ a weapon, and _without_ help. The best he could do was to get her to solve his immediate problem and rent him a car, with her gold card and her licence or fix the Ferrari. They took a cab and found this place and Spence waited outside in the sun for half an hour. Kathryn came around the block, riding in a brand new motorbike. She pulled the helmet off and pushed her hair behind her ears.

Spence stepped away from it, staring. "Oh no…" he looked up at her, eyes like saucers. "…I am _not _getting in that thing." He said, looking back at the motorbike. "Why? You scared of motorbikes?" Kathryn asked in a caring motherly tone. Okay. Pause riggghhhht _here_. Ironic, ain't it? Half an hour ago, Kathryn was the scared one and Spence was the 'caring' one. The one in control. But now…_Play, un-pause, whatever…_it was like being with completely different people. "No!" he argued. And then, he softened, returning to his anxious disposition. "…I just…hate it, that's all."

"Aww. Poor baby." Kathryn said. "Why?"

"Because of bad experience…"

"Fuck it, Abby! What the hell are you doing!"

"What bad experience?"

"I just don't fuckin want to, alright?" Spence shouted, causing heads to turn and people to stop and watch. Kathryn stared at him for a moment then slowly stood up. Spence looked at her and was forced to take a few step backwards. "Aw, come here you little asshole." He had expected her to slap him and tell him to get a grip but she didn't do that. Instead, she did this: Two women passing by stopped and looked. One turned to the other, smiling, "Aw, what a cute couple. That is such a wonderful boyfriend." The other nodded and they kept walking, "Hm-Hm. I wish my boyfriend can be all cute when he's scared…"

Yep. She did _that_. She hugged him. What a brave little woman…I salute you. "You wanna get in the motorbike now, Dr. D?" Eventually, she got him near the motorbike and soon they were on their way and Spence had relaxed. "You know what, Katy?" She smiled, "Yeah?"

"Your not as dangerous and scary as my other friend." He said. "Don't take me in for some softy, though, 'kay?" Kathryn said and Spence laughed nervously, "Hell no. I will never forget when you…when you…Ah, fuck it. That time really hurt." They passed by her building and passed by the scene of the ambush. The damaged vehicles were gone. There were shards of glass in the gutter and oil stains on the blacktop, but that was all. She drove on a few blocks to her office and parked on a space opposite her office door. Left the motor running, got off and Spence eased forward. "Ok. This is where you pick me up…about eight o'clock, 'kay?"

"That late?"

"Well, I'm kinda late so I'm pretty sure I have to make up for that."

"Come on, I ain't waitin that long…"

She paused and looked him up and down, narrowing her eyes. "That sounded like a southern accent or something…"

He looked at her, agitated. "Kathryn."

"Okay. Okay. About seven then."

"Don't leave the building, Katy. Katy! Kathryn!" He sighed and put on the helmet and watched her all the way inside. There was a broad paved area in front of the building. Kathryn skipped across it, bare legs flashing and dancing under the dress. She turned and smiled and waved. That was enough for him to know that she understood. She pushed sideways through the revolving door, swinging her heavy case. It was a tall building, maybe sixty or seventy storeys. Probably dozens of suites rented to dozens of separate firms, maybe hundreds. But the situation looked like it might be safe enough. "Should I really trust this hellhole, King?" he asked himself._King nudged him and raised his bottle of beer at the TV. "Look at that. In real life, amateur killers wouldn't get in so easily. The place is safe enough, Look at it this way…"_

_"…There's a reception counter immediately inside that building--"_ There was a wide reception counter immediately inside the revolving door._ "--Couple of security guys--"_ A line of security people were sitting behind it,_ "--and the usual solid glass screen--"_ and behind them was a solid glass screen, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, with one opening in it_. "…and there's one opening, operated by a tiny fucking buzzer under the counter."_ Behind the screen were the elevators_. "And there's no way in, unless the security guys saw fit to let you in…Depends on the diligence of the doormen."_

_"How do you know this stuff, King?"_

_"………Because I used to be a cop."_

* * *

Reeford Royals hurried across the plaza and inside to the elevators. He was sweating, The chill of the lobby air struck through his jacket and he rode the express up to the right floor. He stepped out and walked through the narrow corridor and into Nightshade's brass-and-oak lobby for the second time that week. Funny thing was, he had no idea what the hell he was doing there. What he was going to say. Why he was going to say it. Basically, he doesn't know shit, right now. But this time, the receptionist was gone and now, Nightshade was the one sitting behind her counter. On the other side of the lobby, two men in expensive suits were coming out of a small kitchen, one carrying two mugs in one hand and the other guy was carrying some donuts. Reeford could see steam rising and brown froth swirling in the mugs. He between the men and Danny, who was anxiously smoking a cigarette while playing with what seemed like a Game Boy. 

"Mr. Nightshade." Reeford said, failing to hold back a squeak from his voice. He was terrified because if anything at all went wrong, it was his daughter that would pay the price. And he loved his daughter very much. They ignored him. The first guy walked over to the counter and set one of the mugs in front of Daniel, then he walked back behind Reeford and put himself nearer the lobby door. "Here you go, Wes." the other one said and Reeford guessed that these two were close. He was right, too. "…Got you guys some donut." he said, placing the plastic bag in beside the coffee. Daniel inhaled then exhaled smoke, moving the cigarette around with his mouth so that he could move his lips and talk.

"Ranks' Racl."

"You should stop smoking." The man called Carl said. "Bad for the lungs." He rubbed his stomach for effect. Danny watched him curiously, briefly looking away from the Game Boy, "Carl…that's not where your lungs are." Carl rolled his eyes at him and walked away, "What-_ever_." he said in a girly, matter-of-fact tone, not accepting that he had been wrong. "Mr Nightshade." Reeford said again, looking straight ahead. Danny paused the game and set the toy down on the counter. He leaned forward and rotated the coffee mug, carefully adjusting the angle of the handle until it was presented comfortably to his grasp, "You like games, Reese?"

Reeford felt a chill down his spine as Danny looked up at him with cold, merciless eyes. He swallowed hard and choked out an answer, "I don't see what that's got to do with anything."

"Makes me either like you or hate you." Danny said casually as if they were discussing whether he liked this or that from a movie or something. "You watch Wrestling?" Reeford slowly shook his head, bewildered. "Aw, you damn well should!" he said, slamming the mug down onto the counter, "You should watch Nick Foley, _love_ that guy. Absolutely _fucking_ crazy."

"Mr…Mr.…Nightshade." Reeford tried for the third and final time. Danny relaxed back in his chair, busy with a cream donut, interested because a particular scene from a particular movie popped up into his head. Ya'll know that cream donut scene from the Van Wilder movie? But Reeford couldn't say anything, he just stared at him, blankly. If anything, everything he could say would come out in a jumble. "I figured you'd come back…to try talk some sense." He said it calmly, quietly, in a matter-of-fact voice, not moving at all. Then, there was silence and Reeford was sure all eyes were on him. No sound. Just faint background noises booming elsewhere in the building, and the thumping in Reeford's chest. All he wanted was his family. His wife, Janie and his daughter, Kathryn. He just wanted to see them so bad…

His eyes started adjusting into the gloom and the silence was unsettling him. He had absolutely no idea how to react to this. He glanced around. _Run. Fight back. Tell him whose boss. _But his legs would not move. It was like being paralysed as he stood still, a yard in front of the counter, rigid with outrage and humiliation. And fear. "As far as I'm concerned, I own you…" Danny said and Reeford stared at him, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out of it. And Reeford squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that this was another screwed up dream but when he opened them, it finally sunk in. Danny looked up at him and laughed softly, eyes clouded.

"I'm so sorry."

* * *

Janie Royals had decided to clean the house to tip-top shape for her husband, who came home the previous night with saying a word to her. Thinking about it, she turned lamps on everywhere. She had read that to turn them on was a clear message the house was gloomy. Better to have them on from the outset, which was a clear message of cheerful welcome. She wanted to see first how good the house looked after she cleaned it up before she showed Reeford. Janie ran back down the stairs. In the family room, she opened the blind all the way to show off the pool. Then, the doorbell rang and she froze. Did she have time to change? Did Reeford come earlier than he said he would? Maybe. Maybe not. He was at the door, right now, ringing the bell. The doorbell rang again. 

Janie took a breath and shook her hips to loosen the fabric of her dress and walked down the hall. Took another breath and opened the door. But it wasn't Reeford. In fact, it wasn't anybody she knew but he looked good. He was a tallish man, maybe fifty or sixty, grey, in a dark suit, standing side-on, looking out and back at the plantings along the driveway. She started a smile. Was this the client her secretary had told her about? The rich man that could mean jackpot to her career? "Hello, can I help you?" she said brightly, and held out her hand. He turned back from the garden to face her. He stared straight at her, frankly and blatantly and she found herself staring back. He said nothing to her as he looked down at her extended hand. He paused then brought his hand up to meet it. But it wasn't a hand.

"Hello Mrs Royals. My name's Conan Nightshade."

It was a shining metal hook.

"I'm so sorry."


	12. Kat wars: The return of the great king

**TWELVE**

To get an actual gun, he had to make a few calls to a few people. But even something as easy as this needed some time. A few hours if you knew the guy well…he held the receiver by his ear, tense, practically covered in a coat of sweat. It rang for a long time, and then a rough voice with a southern accent answered. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Beanie, this is Mr. Jackass-who-kept-stealing-stuff-and-damaging-them-for-no-reason. I'm calling on behalf of Mr. I'm-so-sorry-for-stealing-and-driving-and-wrecking-your-cars and Mrs. I-need-a-favour."

"I know you. You that crazy fella who keep wrecking them cars o' mine. Yeeeaaah, I remember. You were the worst driver I ever saw."

"There's no need for…name calling."

"Whatcha want, boy?"

"…I need a gun, a _really_ good gun. This time, one that actually works would be nice."

"Well, ain't that predictable. What makes you think I'll help you? Last time I checked, you slept with my daughter."

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"And my wife."

"I feel very…err…cornered."

"Well, boy. I forgave you for that…so why don't you come here and I'll give you a gun."

"Really?"

"Yeah. After I shoot you with it you bastard! Don't you dare come back here because I swear to god, I will shove an apple down your throat and my oddly large foot up your sorry ass! You fu---"

Spence hung up. Exhaled a breath and placed the receiver back in its place. "Wow."

It was a few hours later that day when he walked two blocks north of the apartment and into the coffee shop. And it had also been a few hours later since he last looked up. He sat alone at a chrome table, looking at an old and faded photograph, an espresso untouched at his elbow. He shut his eyes shoved the photograph back in his shirt pocket. He swallowed the coffee in one mouthful and stood up from his seat. It was exactly seven one when he arrived outside the building.

He leaned on the lamp post, eyes flicking left and right through his aviator sunglasses, ahead and behind, always returning to the revolving door. Spence saw her through the glass, in the lobby. He saw the hair, the dress, the flash of her legs as she skipped sideways to the exit. He wondered if she had been waiting for him up on her floor. Kathryn pushed the door and spilled out on to the street and he walked towards her. She was carrying the suitcase as she skipped through a shaft of sun, her hair lighting up like a halo. Five yards from him, she smiled brightly. "Hey Angie." she stretched out her arms and he did the same, smiling.

"Hey boo-boo!" he said, embracing her and then kissing her on the cheek.

She laughed. "You still do that?"

"You still call me Angie?"

"Good point." He smiled and put an arm around her, and they walked back to the apartment.

They exchanged information about each other's day and neither fully listened. Kathryn was sure that Spence's eyes were closed behind the sunglasses and that he was half asleep, bored, leaning on her as she walked them home. And Spence was sure that although Kathryn agreed to the gun-hunting idea, she wasn't happy about it. Particularly about the whole Plan B thing. "Why'd he reject you?" Kathryn asked curiously and suspiciously as they entered the front door. "He…uh…well…" he ran a hand down his hair and laughed nervously. "…we had disagreements about things I used to do to him………and other people."

"Okay. So what the hell is this infamous 'Plan B' of yours?"

"You'll see. Plan B's gonna be a piece of cake."

"Oh, Angie." She groaned. "Last time you said that you crashed my Ferrari. My expensive Ferrari. My very expensive Ferrari. My very expensive, beautiful Ferrari. My very expensive, beautiful, shiny, fast--"

"Dully noted, Katy."

"So Plan B?" Kathryn asked.

"Plan B."

I don't know about you…but I'd really hate to be a part of Plan B.

* * *

Kip Rexrode had lived his whole life in a clapboard building sandwiched between crumbling two-storey brick structures that may have been factories or warehouses before they were abandoned decades ago. Kip's house had a filthy window on the left and an entrance in the centre and a roll-up door standing open on the right revealing a narrow garage area. There was an old truck squeezed in the space, with a faded coat of red emphasizing the life of its owner. But he was happy with his life. It was routine and nothing had ever changed. And he would do anything to keep it that way. Kip lived alone ever since his father died of lung cancer and his mother ran away with another man, but he preferred it that way. Then, there was the wife. And the kid. And the whole drugs thing. And the whole, 'keep reading this fanfic' thing. 

Late that night, he sat down with company in his basement, underneath the trapdoor beyond the counter of his little shop he had to earn money. Little but enough money. Weekly, at a particular day, he and his friends would play poker just to earn a little extra. But playing and talking to people of the outside world wasn't just about the money, it was also to the fact that he debated each and every night whether he was still alive or what. Seemed like he was.

"Bless each and every one of your bosses for the high pay they give you…" Kip laughed merrily, claiming his money and grinning mischievously. "…the high pay you hand me on a silver platter."

There was the sound of the familiar bell and the sound of footsteps creaking through the wooden floor above them. Kip sighed wearily and threw the cash back on the table, easing off his chair. "Hold on." he called up the hole, and he turned back to the others, "I ain't leaving me money with you guys. Last time I did, half of it magically went missing so git up there." The five guys groaned and there was the sound of screeching as chairs were pushed back. Kip smiled to himself and called up the hole once again as he tramped up the narrow staircase, "Here I come." his middle-aged voice suspended somewhere between surprise and bad tempter. The voice of a man not expecting callers. Behind him, he could hear feet scraping on the cement cellar.

His head appeared at floor level, then his shoulders, then his torso, as he came on up the ladder. Kip was a bulky figure and had great difficulty climbing out of the hole. He was dressed in faded olive fatigues and he had greasy grey hair, a ragged grey beard, a fleshy face and small blue eyes. He came out on hands and knees and stood up, dusting his hands on his pants. The visitor was a pretty good-looking guy that looked about in his thirties. Spiky hair. Brown eyes. Wearing worn out levis, and a dull but calm grey sleeve shirt. Whatever they called it. He wore this necklace with a real bullet in it. The guy had a kind of wild aura about him and at first glance, he looked like he was from the outback or something. Like that movie…what was it called again? Crocodile Dundee or something. But there was also this calm feeling. Gentle. Grace. Patience…sounded like Jesus to Kip.

"Well, hello stranger." Kip said and behind him, another head and shoulders appeared. And another. And another. And another. And goddamit, _finally_, this is the last one. Five men stamped up the ladder from the cellar. Each one of them straightened and paused and looked hard at the stranger and then stepped away to the line of chairs. Kip's pals were big men, fleshy, tattooed and dressed in the similar clothing. They sat with big arms crossed against big stomach. The stranger looked straight ahead at Kip, he didn't seem worried at all. In fact, two of the men were pretty damn worried about him 'kicking Kip's ass' because to them, the guy looked pretty wild.

"Honey, what are we doing here?" came a soft female voice. Kip looked toward the door and saw a beautiful young woman enter. She wore a powder blue silk dress and a pleasant looking straw hat. "Well howdy, ma'am." Kip greeted and the woman tipped her hat at his direction in response, her arm wrapped around his. Didn't surprise Kip much. Good looking guy plus good looking girl equals 'Kip feels very bad and wishes he could be that guy'. "You Rexrode?" the stranger asked. Kip shrugged and then nodded. There was no recognition in Kip's eyes and the stranger glanced at the line of men on their chairs. He snickered, and Kip was sure that the worried two upgraded to the frightened two. 'Sides, the guy looked dangerous. "What do you want?" Kip asked. The stranger looked back at him, smiling this time, "You got a Steyr GB, Rexrode?"

Kip smiled, real amusement in the set of his jaw and the light in his eyes. "Against the law for me to sell you one, boy. Against the law for you to be running around with one, too." he said in mocking singsong way, more like a confession that he had them and sold them. There was a patronizing undercurrent in the tone that said _I've got something you really want and I'm not giving it to you_. There was no caution in Kip's voice. No suspicion that the stranger was really a cop. No, the guy seemed relaxed. As if there was nothing to be afraid of. Like he was familiar with these kind of people. "What law?" said the pretty lady next to him, laughing in disbelief. Kip shrugged, shoving his hands down his pocket, "Well, miss. They're mighty expensive."

"Compared to what? A private plane?" she asked again. Kip started to babble, looking at his pals for support but they turned away, talking among themselves. Kip wasn't sure about the two of 'em, and with two answers, just eight words, she had him adrift, thinking she could be anything from a billionaire's wife intending to inherit early, to a wife aiming to survive a messy love triangle. She kept looking at him as if she didn't take any bullshit from anybody, like she had to get her own way. And he was standing there, like a bomb ready to go off at any moment. They got Kip doubting whether they were cops or not but no…the guy didn't look like a cop. More like a crazy son of a bitch. Yeah, that suits real well. "Steyr GB?" Kip repeated. "You want the proper piece? Austrian piece? What about a silencer?"

"Whatever," the stranger said in a disgusted, impatient tone, like he was the guy who dealt with the trivial details. Kip clicked his fingers and one of the heavy men reluctantly peeled off from the line of chairs and dropped down the hole. He came back up a long moment later with a black cylinder wrapped in paper that gun oil had turned transparent. Kip shrugged again, "How does three thousand and fifty bucks sound to you?"

"Sounds like a scam." the stranger said.

Kip was at a loss for words. He scratched his head once again. The other guys were terrified of the heavy men that they fainted. Well, some did. Others ran away. But this one…this one was different in many ways that it really ticked some of the men off. "Well--" Kip started but he was cut off by the stranger. "Let me see it," he said. Kip shrugged then nodded, wiping the tube on his pants. Handed it over. For Kip, it really felt like handing over his baby or something. The stranger took the gun and clicked the tube in place. It wasn't like in the movies. He used the light fast pressure and a half-turn and it clicked on like a lens fits a camera. The lady peered over his shoulder and smiled at the gun. The stranger examined the gun, "Huh. The silencer improves the balance. Ninety-nine times in a hundred, a handgun gets fired high because the recoil flips the muzzle upward. The weight of the silencer was going to counteract that likelihood and a silencer works by dispersing the blast of gas relatively slowly, which weakens the recoil in the first place," the stranger looked up at Kip, who looked absolutely stunned, "Does it work real good?"

"'Course it does, stranger," Kip said proudly, "Genuine factory piece can't go wrong."

The guy who had brought it upstairs was back on his chair. Five guys, sic chairs. One extra one for Kip. "So, three thousand and fifty?" Kip said again as he watched the stranger examine the gun. "There's no safety catch on this thing." The stranger said suddenly, "The first pull needs a pressure of fourteen pounds on the trigger, which is judged to be enough to avoid an accidental discharge if the gun is dropped." The lady looked at her companion with surprise. Kip smiled at the man, "You know a lot about guns, don't you?" he asked, laughing.

The stranger laughed with him, "Yeah." then, he flicked his hand left and pulled the fourteen pounds. The gun fired and the empty chair blew apart. The sound was loud. Even with the silencer. Not like in the movies. It's not a little cough. Not a polite little spit. It's like taking the thickest phone book there is and raising it way over your head and smashing it down on a desk with all your strength. Not a quiet sound but quieter than it could be. Kip's friends were frozen with shock. Shredded vinyl and dirty horsehair stuffing were floating in the air and Kip was staring, motionless. The stranger hit him hard, left handed in the stomach and kicked his feet away and dumped him on the floor.

All at once, the heavy men started running out, running for some guns, or even running at him. The stranger raised the gun and fired again. The same loud blast. The floorboards splintered at one guy's feet. He fired again. And again. And again. And again…Dust and wood splinters were bursting upward. The noise of the repeated shots were crushing. There was the strong smell of burned powder and hot steel wool inside the suppressor. "You know, that's a really stupid thing to do." the stranger said. The men blinked sweat from their eyes. "Downstairs…_now_." Nobody moved. The stranger fired at one of the guys. The guy screwed his eyes shut and then, _BAM! _He opened his eyes once again. Nothing. No bullet wound. The bullet had crashed into the wall where his head had been a few moments ago. "_Run_…"

The men fought and crowded to the hatch. Crashed and tumbled through. The stranger cocked his head towards the trapdoor and the lady dropped the door closed on them and dragged the counter over the top of it. Kip was up on his hands and knees and the stranger kicked him over on his back and kept on kicking him until he had scrambled all the way backward and his head was jammed up hard against the displaced counter. The stranger put a foot on Kip's chest and pushed him back down. He grinned mischievously, taking out a badge.

"Hello, my name is Fuck you."


	13. A lie, a kiss with open eyes

**THIRTEEN**

There was nobody else around. The boy was on his own. Spence stepped into the alley. The way to do it was to walk fast and focus on something way beyond your target. And the worst way to do it was to run up to the target and say, "Hahaha! I'm going to kill _yyooouuu_!" but you would expect something as stupid as that from our beloved moron…Spence. Seriously, now make the target feel like he's got nothing to do with anything. Spence checked his watch and glanced far ahead into the distance. He hustled along, almost running. At the last minute, he dropped his gaze to the car, like he was suddenly dragged back into the present by a huge obstacle. The boy was watching him as he dodged left, where he knew the angle of the car wouldn't let him through. He pulled up in exasperation and dodged right, turning with the pent-up fury of a hurrying man baulked by a nuisance. He swung his left arm with the turn and hit the boy square in the side of the head. The boy toppled and Spence hit him again right-handed, just a short-arm jab, relatively gentle. No reason for the trip to the hospital. "Sorry, kid."

The kid hit the alley floor with a dusty thump. Spence bent down just as Kathryn came running into the alley. "Angie, what the hell did you do?" Spence ignored her completely and rolled the kid over and checked his pockets. There was a gun in there, but it wasn't the sort of thing he was going to bear home in triumph. "Okay. Question…How did you _find_ Plan B this quick?" He shrugged and pitched the gun out of reach under the car, "Car would stop short in some alleys and a guy would dart forward to the driver's window. Short conversation, and the money will be exchanged, the guy would dart back to a doorway and disappear like a magician. The driver would glance left and right and then accept a small drug package and force back into the traffic like nothing ever happened. Almost the same as the trade on foot."

She narrowed her eyes in question, "How do you know all this?"

A beat.

"Because I used to do it…"

Kathryn watched him straighten up and she was speechless. "You were on drugs?"

He looked around as the conversation continued. She knew he was crazy but she never knew he used to be on drugs. Or is. Maybe he was still doing it? God, of all the fucking little boys at the playground, why did she go and made friends with him? Ok. Rephrase that: She didn't go to _him_. He went to _her_. Saving her from a couple of bullies who kept, well, '_bullying_' her. Actually, at first he was the one insulting and teasing her, calling her Barbie and all, but when actual problems came, he was there to help. He's a good friend…it just takes time to show it. A really _long_ time. "Yes." he replied simply. Offering no more information. No further questions. He inched a door open with his toe and stood gazing into the gloom. Kathryn was surprised, "Really?" she managed to say. He turned to her and smiled at her adoringly, "Nah, I'm just messing with you, Boo-Boo."

She glowered at him, scowling, which made him look all the more adorable, "Shut up, asshole or I swear I'll sew your mouth together and--"

Kathryn stopped when she realized that she was talking to nothing but air. Spence had already stepped inside the doorway. She anxiously looked around at the dark alley, "Waaait." she called suddenly, tip-toeing inside after him. There was an inner door off the back hallway, leading to the right, into a room with a light on inside. It was about fifteen paces away. _No point in waiting_, Spence thought. The guys weren't about to take a dinner break. He walked ahead fifteen paces and stopped at the door. Kathryn's back was pressed against his as she frantically looked around. "Shh." he said, looking over his shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" he mumbled. "I'm scared of the dark." He shook his head, "Big baby."

The building stank of decay and sweat and urine. It was quiet. An abandoned building. Spence listened. There was a low voice inside the room. Then, an answer to it. Two people were in there…it was either that or the guy was mental and he was talking to himself. Nothing surprising. You would expect that from King while sleeping. "What are you going to do, Angie?" she whispered, leaning back ever so close to him, managing to actually push him against the door every time she could hear the scampering of rats. "I don't know."

"Is Plan B still a piece of cake?" she asked him, getting more and more anxious.

"I'm gonna find that out…" he said. "…if I don't die today, you owe me a cold beer for getting us a gun."

He took a breath and burst through the door like it wasn't there at all. It crashed back against the hinge. "Ow! Shit!" He rubbed his shoulder in pain and then ducked out of the way just as a bullet passed the air where his head had been a few seconds ago. There was dim light. A single electric bulb. Three men. Packages (bags with drugs in it) and money on the table. A handgun on the table.

He hit the first guy a wide swinging roundhouse blow square on the temple. The guy fell sideways and Spence drove through him with a knee in the gut on his way back to the second guy, who was coming up out of his chair with his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. Spence smacked him with a forearm smash exactly horizontal between his eyebrows and his hairline. Do it hard enough, and the guy goes down but the skull stays in one piece…doctors should know. Spence swore creatively, and waved his arm around like a chicken. "Ow, ow, ow--" he saw the third guy swinging a handgun at his direction-- "Oh shit!" he ducked and quickly looked over his shoulder at the bullet hole on the wall before turning back--

Click.

--No more bullets. The guy paused and stared dumbly at the gun, as did Spence, not believing his luck. The guy looked up at Spence who chuckled nervously before slamming his fist at the male's weakest link. He hit the metal belt instead and shook his hand in pain. "Ahh...oww…" And dumb guy over there just laughed deeply at him. Spence slowly stopped shaking his hand but had a frozen look on his face. Kathryn tapped the guy on the shoulder and when he turned, she slammed a phone book on his face (nearby phone booth, don't ask). The two watched the guy down. Spence laughed, rubbing his hand and then looking up at Kathryn. "Nice!" But she had a serious expression on her face, "I just saved your fucking life."

He, too, turned serious. Then, he whined and complained. "Aw, come on! That doesn't count anymore! We're not kids!"

"Oh, it still counts."

"No it don't."

"Wanna bet?"

"Yeah--ow! Oww…"

She held the phone book by his face and smiled, "Quit whining, it's not that thick…I'm sure you won't get a concussion, or brain damage…whatever…that sort of thing."

"Yeah and if I die, I'm blaming you."

After some time of searching, Kathryn had found them a Colt Detective Special. A six-shot .38-calibre revolver in blued steel with black plastic grips. It was okay. Nowhere near the thing he was looking for but okay. At least, it's something.

"Okay. Shopping's done." she said, quickly handing over the gun as if disgusted by it. Needless to say, she probably was. Killing wasn't really her thing, ya know what I mean?

Spence nodded to her and jammed it under his belt in the small of his back and smiled. He stayed down next to the unconscious dumb guy and whispered, "I'll buy your gun for a buck. Shake your head if you've got a problem with that, 'kay?" he smiled again and stood up, peeled a dollar bill off his roll and left it at the table, right next to the other useless handgun. He turned to Kathryn, "See? I told you the gun would cost less than the pizza." The two started walking back out the door. Spence was happy. Kathryn was just…Kathryn.

"I'm gonna miss this place, can I get some souvenirs?" he asked her.

"Man, that's how it starts." She said, being all lawyer like. "Next, you'll be working for the bad guys, accepting bribes, selling drugs, making money…drinking too much beer…Your gonna like that…" she patted him on the rear, "Pull it out." Spence groaned and unbuckled his belt, pulling out one of the bags from his pants, "Don't use that devil sensor with me."

"Ha. Devil? Stop talking to yourself, Spence…'sides, your _easy_….."

Spence rolled his eyes and mimicked her talking, while he buckled up his belt.

"--and the other one…"

Spence groaned and did the whole routine all over again, handing her another bag which she threw over her shoulder.

"I swear to god, there is something so very wrong with you, Angie. I'm deeply, _deeply_ concerned."

"Your concerned about me?"

"No…about those around you."

* * *

It was so sudden. It had happened without warning. As soon as the 'client' was inside and the door was closed, the man reached up under his left armpit. She saw the gun arcing at her, coming straight at her. The gun was made of dark metal, grey, dewed with oil. It stopped level with her chest and she stared down at it, frozen, hands clamped to her face and her eyes open so wide she thought the skin on her face would tear. He smiled, "I assure you that all this would be over very soon." 

For you,

Your husband,

And your step-daughter…

* * *

Reeford Royals sat alone in the bathroom of Daniel Nightshade's office. Danny had forced him to go in there. Not physically. It wasn't even threatening. He just sat there, still and quiet, talking to him softly and Reeford had scuttled across the carpet. What had went on in that room in the past twenty minutes wasn't worth talking about. It was all a simple explanation of everything. Of _everything_. There had been muffled sounds out in the office, and after a few minutes, it sounded like everyone had left. Then, it had gone dark and silent. Reeford listened carefully. Nothing. He eased himself up off the floor and stepped to the sunk. Turned the faucet and listened again over the trickle of water. Still nothing. Reeford stared at his reflection in the mirror. Kathryn was running around somewhere, along with that scruffy boy from next door. He was saving her. Helping her. He chuckled at that. _He was helping her. He was helping someone. _Even the words sounded absolutely silly to him. 

That Spencer kid had always been trouble and Katie would always talk about him, asking questions. She found his actions very weird but very interesting. She would say, "Daddy, that boy from next door brought his skateboard to school. He did stuff with it…and…he ate gum. Can I eat gum? And then, he said this long scary speech to some kids who were bugging him. Something about shoving his foot up their…umm…'asses'… if they don't start being useful. I came and asked him why he said that and I think he said that it would teach them a very valuable lesson." And Reeford would be unconcerned, replying just to make her happy, "What lesson would that be honey?"

She would smile and say, "The lesson of getting off their asses and helping people who truly need help." and before Reeford could even reply, she would continue, relaxed and happy, "He helps people. And once, I saw him talking to a homeless man. They seemed like friends…he's balanced, daddy."

"And what does 'balanced' mean?"

"He's mean…and then, he's not mean."

Reeford replayed the whole thing back on his mind. This was the last happy conversation he had with his daughter…before things happened. Before he left. He smiled sadly at the reflection and let out a sigh, "Spencer, you better bring my daughter back in one piece."

* * *

Spence walked through to the kitchen with the pizza in one hand, and a sports bag with the other. "I brought…uh…dinner." he stated to no one in particular. Kathryn was somewhere around the house, probably changing in her room. He put the bag on the floor and the pizza box on the counter and opened it up. She had set the table. There were two place settings, opposite each other. Plates, knives and forks, paper napkins, a glass of iced water and a bottle of Jack Daniels. He smiled as soon as he saw it. What was she, some sort of mind reader? "Hey, can we eat now?" he called. There was no reply and all he could hear was the shower running. He sighed and tried opening the bottle, but failed at first, then he tried with his mouth, whining as he got more and more impatient. "Ropen yoo dahm ting." 

"What are you Scooby Doo?" She was standing close behind him. He could feel her there. He could smell her perfume as he finally managed to open the bottle. He felt the flat of her hand touch his back. It was moist. She left it there for a second, then she used it to move him out of the way. "Cool." she said. "I get the big piece." He blinked in confusion then reacted, "What? Nooo. Aw, come on. The bet was--"

She walked past him, hair damp and dripping wet from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around her slim body. She balanced the box on her arm and carried it back to the table, pulling the biggest slice off of another while the box canted and wobbled. She sat down and smiled up at him, "What? No cute scary speeches about you shoving something that doesn't exist up my ass?"

He paused a fraction of a second longer but that was enough for Kathryn. She smiled again as he sat down, her foot hitting his knee under the table. He gave her a tired, annoyed look and she fluttered her eyelashes innocently at him. He rolled his eyes and settled in his seat, arms folded. She shrugged and tossed her hair behind her shoulders and held her head at an angle for the first bite. She rolled the wedge into a point, attacking it hungrily. He raised an eyebrow at her, making one of his '_Oo-kay, weirdo. You need to find a highly qualified psychiatrist not a psychologist… you need some drugs.' _looks. She laughed slightly, shaking her head defensively, "Oh, leave me alone you big meanie. You told me not to leave the office so I couldn't get lunch besides coffee and a sandwich. And you know that's not enough for me…"

You need to find a highly qualified psychiatrist not a psychologist… you need some drugs.' looks. She laughed slightly, shaking her head defensively, "Oh, leave me alone you big meanie. You told me not to leave the office so I couldn't get lunch besides coffee and a sandwich. And you know that's not enough for me…" 

He looked surprised. "You _listened_ to me?"

She darted out her tongue and smiled and caught a thread of cheese. She smiled self-consciously at him as she hooked it back between her lips. They shone with oil. He pursed his lips together to keep from smiling but ended up laughing when she pouted and fluttered her eyelashes again. She smiled and looked down at the pizza, "Anchovies. My favourite. How can you still remember all that?"

"Because I'm smarter than you."

"Yeah, yeah." she finished off a slice and wiped her fingers on a napkin and tossed her damp, dark hair over her shoulders. "Well, that's half true. You've got the brains but never the ba--" Outside, tyres screeched and horns blared. "--lls…" she looked up and smiled sweetly.

Later

Kathryn laughed heartily, her head resting on the table, the whole room spinning around her, "That was really funny!" she said, looking up at him, pushing her self up from the table with the bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand. "I can't believe you dyed your mom and dads' hair when they were sleeping! All that just because they wouldn't let you light fireworks under your principles' desk." she laughed again and eased off the computer chair from her desk and skipped her way across the room. She tripped and giggled as she flopped down on the bed beside Spence who was smiling up at the ceiling, many empty bottles of beer beside him. They both stared happily at the ceiling, talking and laughing. "They grounded me after that. And our neighbour-- you know, Steven? Yeah, once…he ran over my car!"

"You mean, he _nearly _ran over your car. I remember that, it was a few years after the rainbow-dyed hair."

"No, he _literally _ran over my car on Halloween. And I have never felt more of a pussy in my whole life." They laughed at that. "A few days before that, I've been getting calls of someone threatening to kill me. Turns out it was Steven trying to scare me. Nothing worked until he crashed my car. But it was okay, that old car I found at the dump." She rolled around to her stomach and looked at him, "Really?" she laughed, "What did you say to Steven?" He coughed and cleared his throat, "When he threatened me with phone calls? Nothing, all I said was "Well, I'm kind of busy planning how to rain chaos at my school. Is Saturday fine?""She laughed again, losing control over herself. "You are so wasted!" he said, laughing, as if this was some sort of triumph over the boring side of her.

"So are you…" she pointed out before burping and then laughing.

"Whoa. You okay there, burpy?" Spence joked as he finished off another bottle. She shrugged then nodded, "Well, I didn't explode, didn't I?"

"How did we get from eating pizza to getting beyond drunk?"

"I dunno. I insulted what's left of your manhood?"

"Yeah…oh, and I needed an excuse to drink some beer."

"It's like not no excuses has ever stopped you before."

"True. I mean, we were so crazy back then you'd think we were aliens on cocaine."

"Agreed. Anyway," she laughed. "That was the best _and_ worst drinking competition I've ever had with you. Oh, god. I'm gonna get a hangover…I think I might not go to work tomorrow so I can, you know, go help you so you would actually do _something_." He didn't reply and everything went silent. "Dude, you not talking turns out to be a very weird wish. It's like I'm in a different dimension." Kathryn said. He shrugged. Another pause.

"Kat?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I tell you something weird?"

"Sure."

"I mean, _really _weird?"

"I'll try to look surprised when you tell me your gay…"

He chuckled. But he didn't sound too happy. It was like one of those serious, awkward moments…ya know? The kind of things that happen when words get to _superfluou_s_?--- Ok, ok, I'll stop using words I don't know…but if I do that, this is gonna be a very, very wordi-less story! Yes, I did use the word 'wordi-less' but that's not the point. The point is I'm a loser who doesn't have a life…what am I saying! I'm brilliant! Okay! Moving on!---_

"I think…" he said. "…I like you more than I thought."

She quickly sat up and stared at him. She was very still. "What do you mean?"

"At-at…first I thought I just liked you because you didn't treat me like everyone else does. You didn't hate me. You weren't scared of me like most people who would piss their pants every time I said something to them. But now…I don't know…"

Kathryn was still staring at him. Still breathless. She should've walked out that door but she didn't. "Your drunk. This is just the beer talking here. I mean, how many beers have you had? Can you even see straight because I might look a lot like Betty from high school to you…we kind of looked alike, only I wasn't such a bitch. Maybe your thinking of her…do you remember her? She was the one my cousin had a thing for. Come on, she was pretty. Your thinking about her, I know it!" she said suddenly, all of the words spilling out of her mouth. She took another breath, "This '_feeling_' your feeling right now is just an illusion, so don't…don't think much about it." And with one more look at Spence, she left the guest room. Out the door…

…and only reason Spence didn't run after her was because he was too stunned to say anything…

Crying, she went back to her bedroom, shutting the door and locking it.


	14. I'm DYING Kat, how are YOU?

Ooh, king will be 'ere soon...thank you for 'patiently' waiting. lol.  
I just read Jessica's fic (The Forces of Darkness--my cousin knows her from somewhere) and I read in the reviews that you actually like Spencer and is on your 'favourite o.c.s list' and I just have to say...

OMG! You _like_ him? (cough i do too cough) But he's an ass...people _hate_ him. How can you like an ass? lol. No seriously...how can you?

* * *

**FOURTEEN**

As I kind of mentioned earlier…Normally, she would have slept like a damn log right up to the point when her alarm went off and she had to drag herself out of bed and into the bathroom, sleepy and slow. But that morning, Kathryn was awake hours later after her alarm had went off, alert, breathing heavily, heart racing gently in her chest. It was the phone that dragged her from her slumber. She didn't want to answer it but her hand obeyed a reflex of its own and reached out, fumbling, for the phone. Half-asleep, she dragged the receiver to her ear. It was her boss, Frank Atkinson. "Hello, it's me, your boss, remember me?" he asked cynically. "Why the hell are you calling so goddamn early?" Kathryn asked rudely and grouchily, screwing her eyes tight. "It's twelve o'clock in the afternoon, Kat." Frank retorted. "That's pretty early to me, and why did you call? What do I owe the…?"

"Pleasure?"

"No, that's not it."

"Anyway," Frank sighed heavily, agitated. "I called because there's this client--"

"No."

"But--"

"No."

"He's--"

"I came up with 'no'."

"But you came to work yesterday. I figured you weren't busy. I mean, I gave you some time off and you came to work. Who does that?"

"People on drugs."

"Well, are you?"

She was surprised he would even ask. So surprised she almost laughed. "No, I'm just hungover. And I came to work yesterday because there was this guy here…and I can't just stand being around him. You see…" Frank cut her off, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Your right." she sighed. "Okay. Crap, I got to go. I'll talk to you later about this new guy," Frank said.

"Okay…bye. Oh, and Frank? One more thing."

"Yeah, what?"

"There's this big, hot-shot client that wants to talk to you, I think you might know him. His name is--" Kathryn hung up and stretched out in her bed, smiling, bringing her hands up above her head and blinking into the light. How many times has he fallen for that? She laughed at the mental image of him stomping his feet and muttering about how he will get her back for that. She laid her palms gently against the dividing wall and held them there. At least _he_ was in her apartment. At least she saw him again.

* * *

Spence realized he must've fallen asleep, because he woke up stiff and cold with noises coming through the door at him. He blinked a few times and after that, his weary gaze settled on a bath…tub? Red water. Empty bottle of painkillers. And a whiskey. Dun, da ra dun! Mystery solved. He was in the bathroom. He clawed for the painkillers and the hangover kicked into overdrive. It took him all his strength to pull himself up into a sitting position. The thumping in his chest was like a crashing symphony mixed with whiskey…oh, and also a major chest pain. He groaned and slid down, trying to get as comfortable as he could. He screwed his eyes tight and felt like he couldn't breathe. Dazed, his eyes flicked to the left. The floor was flooded with blood. 

"Oh sheit." Shit. Shit. Shit. He has been getting chest pains constantly now. Then, it finally clicked. _Hemoptysis, _he thought. --What is Hemoptysis, you ask? Well, I'm only twelve and know it. Where has _your_ brain been wondering off? Anyway, Hemoptysis is the coughing or spitting up of blood from within the respiratory tract. Ya get? Okay. Moving on!-- It was another one if the symptoms. Others symptoms were loss of weight and appetite, constant chest pain, of course, recurring pneumonia or bronchitis, and shortness of breath. _Shit. I'm dying, _he thought, holding onto the toilet and trying to push himself up. He was suddenly very dizzy that it was hard to see straight. "Goddamn…" he said, slowly trying to move his way around the room, his legs shaking and his knees weak. Dizziness is the cause of too much blood loss, okay? _Goddamn. _"…I ain't cleaning up that bathroom."

he thought. --What is Hemoptysis, you ask? Well, I'm only twelve and know it. Where has brain been wondering off? Anyway, Hemoptysis is the coughing or spitting up of blood from within the respiratory tract. Ya get? Okay. Moving on!-- It was another one if the symptoms. Others symptoms were loss of weight and appetite, constant chest pain, of course, recurring pneumonia or bronchitis, and shortness of breath. he thought, holding onto the toilet and trying to push himself up. He was suddenly very dizzy that it was hard to see straight. "Goddamn…" he said, slowly trying to move his way around the room, his legs shaking and his knees weak. Dizziness is the cause of too much blood loss, okay? "…I ain't cleaning up that bathroom."

* * *

Kathryn wanted him to be here but she also wanted him to go. Kathryn couldn't possibly confront Spence after what happened last night. But she always knew what he was like. Usually, when he was _beyond _wasted, he would forget what he said or did. Once, he actually said something that sounded smart, like doctor or lawyer smart, but after that, he forgot all about it and said some weird stuff about 'if you were a toaster, what kind of bread would you like to toast?' 

She had already cleared up the kitchen and was eating some of the leftover pizza when he came and stumbled into the kitchen. And she was right. "Aw fuck…I feel like shit." he said out loud, rubbing his head as if expecting the headache to magically disappear. "Good. That fits with the whole 'you are shit' thing." Kathryn said. She was relieved that he didn't remember but then again, it pissed her off. "Shut up, nobody asked you." he scowled.

"Hey, be nice. I gave you beer."

"True." He smiled and kissed her on the lips--

-- 'Kathryn pulled him down towards her and kissed him deeply' --

--before sitting down. Kathryn snapped out of her day dream and watched him settle down in his seat. _If only… _She thought. It wasn't anything new. It was like a family kind of thing. You see, for years, they had spent each and everyday like brother and sister. That was like a relative, father to daughter or mother to son kinda kiss. You know, nothing else but a mere '

'I treat you like family' shit. Hard to explain but easy to understand…whatever the heck that means. And somehow, she felt safe around him. Like everything was alright and normal. "Hungry?" she asked. He shook his head, "Lost my appetite." he said simply, as if trying to hide something. _Was it the fact that he's kind of losing weight? _She thought. _Naw, he wouldn't give a damn if it was that._

"Do you remember anything from last night? God, I know I can't. I was so drunk." she said, making it all sound so real. Hey, she was a lawyer, bullshit and lies were her thing. He shrugged and scratched his head, "No. Should I?" _Damn it. Damn you, man! Damn alcohol_, She thought.

"So what's in today's schedule? I'm not going to work cos I'm too hungover." she asked, changing the subject.

"Ok. We start with your mom's friend. Ask some shit…or whatever, I'm not a goddamn detective. It'll come to me in the moment of intelligence…bide away, who's the friend?"

"Oh, she's the doctor. They say she treats men like shit but if she's attracted to them, she becomes obsessive. She's famous for that…Might be hard for you. Do you want to go ask someone else besides her? Someone nicer but I don't guarantee good information."

Spence gave her a thumbs up, a sarcastic look on his face, "No, no, no. Someone nicer _sucks_. Mean, obsessive doctor who will eat you alive every chance she gets, _goooood_."

"I'm just gonna eat and then take a shower, do other random shit and then we can go." she said. "Cool. I'm fine with my clothes." he said. He was wearing worn-out levis-- his 'good' levis, as he would call it --and a bomber jacket over a black t-shirt. She tilted her head to look at him and smiled self-consciously like she was about to burst out laughing. Kind of cute. "Hmm." she smiled as he continued to talk to her. He made a funny expression, "Ew. Stop looking. I know your secretly attracted to me, but gawd." She pointed out the kitchen door, "Get!"

"But why?"

"I don't know. Just get out. Your annoying me."

"Well, FYI, I was going to go out anyway. To seek inspiration…on…on…" he stuttered, at a loss for words. "…onnn…?"

"Shit?" Kathryn asked.

"Fuck you."

"I wish you would."

He rolled his eyes and snickered.

_No, I rreaaallllyyy wish you would, _she thought.

"Go." she shooed him off. "Go and seek inspiration. And while your at it, go seek a highly qualified psychiatrist… not a psychologist you need some drugs. Lots of 'em, too."

"Ha. Where'd you get that line from? Rusty?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I got it from my gay-_ass_ brother." she rolled her eyes sarcastically.

"I'm glad you agree with me."

Russell Rodney Royals A.K.A Rusty, Triple R or 'that annoying brother of yours' was Kathryn's older brother. The 'loser' as some people would call him, but he was a rebel. Rebellion against school as his line "They should have a meteor…yeah…and make it hit the school…" suggested but he was a caring brother. Funny, goofy and weird. But wonderful…

Half an hour later, she padded out of her room wearing a black and white plaid skirt with a red shirt with black fishnet sleeves and converse and her hair held up in a high ponytail.

"Wow. Any guy would love to have you." he said, laughing. "Can I steal a kiss from the most beautiful woman I've ever met?" she nodded, smiling when he kissed her on the cheek. Who wouldn't love to be friends with this guy? Well, she could name a lot of people from the hospital…but…if you want to be friends, you got to have life insurance.

"Spence, I think Tellitubies has touched your heart that it boosted up enough soul for you to be nice. Still a jackass, but nice."

* * *

They found that the clinic Josephine had been attending was not really a place in its own right, but just an administrative unit within a giant private hospital facility. Small roads snaked through tasteful landscaping and led to little cul-de-sac ringed with low offices for the doctors and the dentists. The receptionist was a heavy old African American busybody who welcomed Kathryn with a measure of sympathy and as soon as she saw Spence, she chuckled. "Oh, darling. Very nice. A lot better than your other boyfriend." 

Kathryn laughed softly and looked at Spence, "Oh, Nadine, this is D'Angelo Spencer, my best friend…not my boyfriend." The two shook hands, "Pleasure to having met such a nice lady." Spence said and the receptionist smiled warmly at him. Nadine looked at Kathryn, pointing a finger at Spence, smiling, "I like this new boyfriend of yours. Very charming."

Spence grinned. "Why, thank you." Kathryn rolled her eyes, "Nadine…he's not my…oh never mind." Nadine looked down at her papers and busily singed a few, "So. What are you hear for, Kit Kat?" Spence looked at Kathryn in bewilderment, mouthing the words, '_Kit Kat?_' Kathryn sighed and turned to the receptionist, "We're here to see Dr. Lisa Toth…please…Nadine…if that's all right."

"Your here to see that old slutbag?" Nadine asked in surprise, she didn't wait for an answer and quickly turned to Spence, "Ooh, boy. She gonna _loooooooovvvvvveeeeee _you. She gonna make you crazy that you'll rip off one of your arms and beat yourself senseless with it!"

"Nadine!" Kathryn hissed.

"Too much information?" Nadine asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm just warning you, boy."

"I've been warned." Spence smiled. Nadine invited them to wait in Toth's inner office, which earned them glares from the other patients in the waiting room. Nadine whispered to Kathryn before she went in, "That boy's a nice piece of ass, don't let him go."

"Nadine!" Kathryn hissed.

Nadine chuckled, "I'm jus' sayin…"The inner office was an inoffensive place, pale and sterile and silent, with a token examination table and a large coloured cutaway diagram of the human lung on the wall behind the desk. Kathryn didn't know why but Spence was staring at it. He was starting at it, asking himself, _Lung cancer. So which part of me finally failed?_ They waited like that for fifteen minutes, and then the inner door opened and Dr Toth stepped in, she was a plain dark-haired woman in a white coat, a stethoscope around her neck like a badge of office and concern on her face. "Kathryn. How are you? I'm terribly sorry about Josephine."

It was 99 per cent genuine, but there was a stray edge of worry there, too. "I'm fine, thank you. And thanks for everything Dr. Toth. You were very helpful." Toth relaxed. The 1 percent of worry washed away. _Huh. She's worried about a malpractice suit. The patient's daughter was a lawyer, and she was right there in her office straight from the funeral ceremony. _Spence thought, finally looking away from the diagram of the lung. Back when he had Lara, his boss was always like that. If you're a patient without a good enough insurance, your out. "What happened with mom?" Kathryn asked, glancing up another big diagram. Toth followed her gaze and shrugged gently, "Have you heard of the Acid Reflux disease?"

This caught Spence's attention and he looked up, "Yeah. It increases the risk of a deadly throat cancer which is known as oesophageal Aden carcinoma…the reasons for its growing incidence are unclear, but experts speculate diet, obesity and even some heartburn drugs may be partly to blame." Spence turned to Kathryn, explaining to her, "There's this new research that may offer a drug free acid reflux treatment. A team led by a Dr. Richard Holloway…" he turned back to Toth, "…of the Royal Adelaide Hospital."

Dr. Toth was looking at him as if she had met the most famous person in the world and she couldn't believe he was right in front of her. "Oh, that's absolutely right Mr…?"

"D'Angelo Spencer."

Toth nodded, smiling particularly at him, "Angelo, huh? Like Angel? Angel down from Heaven?"

"Yeah. But to my mother, I was the 'spawn' of Satan."

Kathryn glowered at Spence who shrugged in return, "What? It's true. I was always raising hell everywhere I went." Lisa Toth snapped her fingers as if trying to remember something, "Oh…D'Angelo Spencer…angel…spawn of Satan…doctor skills …Angie?" she asked and Spence nodded in confusion. Toth nodded slowly, like a puzzle had just been solved, "Ah, the famous Doctor Spencer. She spoke about you as if you were her son." Toth sat and looked at him, openly interested, she scanned his face, and then her eyes settled on his chest. He wasn't sure exactly why but he guessed it was that wet-looking spot on his shirt. Not water. Blood. He had forgotten all about the wound and the accident yesterday while he was driving Kathryn to work just made it worst. He guessed it would be that.

"Did she speak about anything else?" Kathryn asked. "I got the impression that mom was concerned about something."

Toth turned to her, puzzled, like she was thinking _well, all of my patients are concerned about something, you know? Like life and death?_ "What sort of thing?" Toth asked.

'I don't really know," Kathryn said. "Maybe something one of the other patients might have involved her with?" Toth shrugged and looked blank, like she was about to dismiss it, but then they saw her remember, "Well, she did mention something. She told me she had something to do. Something really important before and if she passed away."

"Did she say what it was?" Spence asked. Toth shook her head, "No details. Initially, it seemed to excite her. But sometimes she would cry, just thinking. She was reluctant about it, at first. Like somebody had landed her with something tedious."

"Was it connected to another patient?" Spence asked again. Toth shook her head, "I really have no idea. It's possible, I guess. They spend a lot of time together, out there in reception. They talk to each other. Often bored and lonely…so they talk to each other."

"When did she first mention it?" Kathryn said quickly. Toth shrugged, "Not long before she went to the Philippines, I guess." Kathryn stared at her, surprised, "She went to the Philippines? I didn't know anything about that." Toth nodded, "Well, she missed an appointment and I asked him what had happened, and she said she'd been to Philippines for just a couple of days."

"Philippines? Why would she go to the Philippines without telling me?"

"As I said before, I really don't know." Toth said. "Was she well enough to travel?" Spence asked Toth and she shook her head, "No, and I think she knew it was silly. Maybe that's why she didn't mention it. I guessed it was important to her."

"When did she go to the Philippines?"

"Middle of…March, I think."

"Okay," he said. Talking fast and quick. Quick enough that Toth didn't make any objections. "Can you give us a list of your other patients during that period? Like, February and March? People he might have talked to because he was old and often lonely and bored?" That was meant to sound like a rebuke. Toth blushed, "But…uhh…that's a confidentiality issue. I can't…I can't really do that." Toth appealed to Kathryn with her eyes, doctor to lawyer, woman to woman, controlling bitch to controlling bitch - _Spence laughed mentally at that_ - a you-know-how-it-is sort of thing. Kathryn nodded, sympathetically but Spence was quick to reassure, "Well, maybe you could…you know…" he looked down, thinking, "Ask Nadine if she saw Josephine talking with one of the others out there?" he shrugged as he looked at Toth, "There won't be confidentiality issues involved, right?"

Toth recognized an impasse when she saw one and buzzed the intercom and asked the receptionist to step inside. Nadine was asked the question, and she started nodding busily and answering before it was even finished. "Oh, yeah. Josephine was kind lady, she made friends with this other woman, too. Young woman. You know, the one with the _husband problems_." Nadine had mentioned the last part in a whisper and nodded again, "Josie was doin' something' for that poor young woman, I'm sure of it. She were always showing Josie old photos and pieces of paper."

"The young woman…with the dead psycho husband?" Toth asked her, forgetting in an instant that Kathryn and Spence were present. Nadine nodded, "Yep, the one who still kept her husband's last name…they were close, the two of 'em, Ms Josephine and Ms Leslie Nightshade."


	15. Time's a wastin' and your dying

**FIFTEEN**

They were still in the lot outside Toth's long low office, engine idling, air roaring to combat the sun beating down on the back of Spence's neck. Spence sat staring down at the motorbike, gripping tightly on the handles and catching Kathryn's subtle perfume mixed with the fresh afternoon air. Behind him, Kathryn was staring into his back, motionless. "Tell me something, Spence." she looked up. "Why do you care so much."

_-- Dr. Toth was still pretty uptight about confidentiality issues but she was still unusually nervous about the fact that Kathryn, a lawyer, was back in her office right after the funeral so she gave up Ms Nightshade's address and accompanied it with the phone number. To Kathryn, Spence seemed ashen after the mention of the name Nightshade that all he did was stare at a diagram of the lung as Nadine went on about what the two women did. A few minutes later, Kathryn was shaking hands with the doctor. "Thank you very much, we appreciate all your help." the doctor smiled and nodded. Spence was coughing rather loudly, and when he talked, he was wheezing a bit. "You alright, dear? That cough sounds bad." Dr. Toth said. Spence shook his head,_

_"I'm fine."_

_"You don't sound _fine_."--_

_

* * *

Spence slowly let go of the handles and straightened up. He didn't want to talk to anyone about this. Especially not to her…_

"Because…"

…Never to her…

**"This feeling _your feeling right now is just as illusion…"_**

-- Spence sat in the waiting room, doing exactly what it was built for-- 'waiting'. Beside him, one man started to light a cigarette, hiding it behind a magazine. Spence grimaced, leaned over and pulled the cigarette out of the man's mouth, holding it in front of his face, "Lung cancer." he said before throwing it out the window, "Really sucks when you have to clean blood from your bathroom."

Kathryn held the receiver by her ear. It rang for a long time, and then a woman's voice answered. "Yes?" the voice said, hesitantly.

"Ms Nightshade?"

"Yes?" the voice said again, wavering --

"Because what, Spence?"

-- "I am deeply sorry for your loss, Ms. Royals. She was a very good person and I'm afraid she was really my last hope." the way she said it, it sounded like she meant it. Her voice was low. There was resigned fall at the end of the sentence, a sort of tragic cadence, like she'd given up on something long cherished and anticipated. Kathryn pictured her, a pale woman in her thirties, holding the phone up to her face, a wet tear on a thin, pale cheek, held by a trembling hand.

"I'm a lawyer. I can help you. I…I have a friend. His name is D'Angelo Spencer and maybe he can help you."

There was silence on the line. Just a faint hiss.

"…I think I just found my 'hope'." --

"Because her husband…Daniel Nightshade…is my step-brother."

**"…so don't think much about it."**

**But I love you…**

**

* * *

**Conan used the tip of his hook to press the intercom buzzer on his desk. Leaned forward and called through to his receptionist. He used her name, which was unusual intimacy for Conan, generally caused by stress or that pain in the ass he had just gotten when his step-son waltzed into the room, wanting 'out'. Who the hell wants out when your in? That's why you were 'in' in the first place. No backing out when you're in. Damn, persistent son of a bitch. "Call Carl, will you Janet?" he said. "We need to talk." 

"That's not a problem, Mr. Nightshade. He's right here."

Carl came in and threaded his way around furniture to one of the arm chairs placed right in front of the desk. Conan shrugged and raised his hand in question, "So?"

Carl sighed in exasperation, "They're going to find out sooner or later. And when they do, they're going to take you down…and I even bet that your step-son will help out."

Conan was nodding. His head was moving in and out of a thin shaft of light that picked up the crude grey tufts of his hair. "I can't believe some ordinary housewife knew all that shit, but I accept that she was once in the military and that she had sources. I had too, you know. But she took sick and died. The stuff she knew died with her because that's how it's supposed to work, dammit!" Conan banged his fist on the table, "Life sucks and then you die and rot in hell. That's how it fucking works…and it should fucking stay like that. It died with her. Otherwise, why would her daughter resort to some half-assed, drifter dick? And the worst part of it is that Royals' daughter is actually that fucking lawyer! And I can't run away either, because that son of a bitch son of mine will be too damn soft to stick with the Royals' thing. I mean, I can't give that up to him…you can see that, right? It's a large thing--"

"--Massive--"

"--Colonial! You see? I can't leave. Just give me a week. Call it a week…then we can walk away from this place."

Carl nodded. Leaned forward, relieved at the prospect of action. "What about this 'drifter dick'? The Spencer guy? He's still a loose end."

"Oh, I'm sure his brother has a separate plan for him."

"We won't find him," Carl pointed out. "Not just the two of us. Not within a _week._ We don't have the time to go out hunting for this selfish prick."

"I see that…hmm…but what about this 'Hannibal'? Spence might ask him for help and we can't have that. You know how easily he took Kip out." Conan reminded him.

"Fuck Hannibal, Spence is the problem here. We need to find this little shit."

"No…we _don't_."

Carl stared at him. "We _do_, uncle…he's a loose end, right?" Conan shook his head, then he dropped his hand away from his face and came out from under the desktop with his hook. "No, no. That's where your wrong, Carl…There's no reason to waste my energy finding him." Conan smiled.

"I'll let him find me."

* * *

Spence killed the motor and they got out in the silence. She had found the correct mailbox. It was set on a wooden post that the weather was rotting and the frost heave was canting forward. Vigorous green vines and thorny creepers were twisting up around it. It was a large-size box, dull green, with the house number painted on the side in faded but immaculate freehand script. The door was hanging open, the box completely stuffed with mail. Kathryn watched silently as he took the mail and squeaked the door closed revealing the name painted on the front in the same faded neat hand: _Nightshade. _The house had a dull brown truck parked under a new basketball hoop on the garage gable and children's bicycles and toys were sprawled on the lawn. A persuasive evidence that _humans_ lived here. The house was a low one-storey, running away from them to the west towards the river. It was the same colour as the car, ancient boards and shingles with the yard as a riot. It was what a tended garden becomes in a few untouched years of wet springs and hot summers. 

They walked slowly up the narrow path running like a gangplank with encroaching brush. Kathryn was a few steps behind Spence and she didn't dare talk to him. In times like these, with people like Spence, you best keep your mouth shut if you wanted to avoid the whole scary speech. But Spence didn't seem angry. In fact, ever since he came back, he was just nice…_but he's still not telling me everything, _She thought. He made it to the door, with the brush grabbing and snatching at his ankles. There was a bell-push, but it was rusted solid. He leaned forward and rapped on the wood with his knuckles. By then, Kathryn was right behind him. There was no response. He rapped again. He could hear the jungle seething behind him. Insect noise. He knocked again. Waited. There was the creak of floorboards inside the house. The sound was carrying ahead of somebody's footsteps and spilling out to him. The footsteps halted on the other side of the door and the door opened, and a pale young woman peered out. "Yes?"

Leslie Nightshade.

"Spencer," he said softly. Behind her, Kathryn heard panicked scurrying in the brush. Furtive animals were fleeing. Leslie looked at him for a long time before closing the door. Stiff locks were turning and bolts were eased back and the door creaked open. Darkness inside. He stepped forward into the shadow of the eaves and saw her waiting. She was a beautiful, pale brunette wearing a faded floral print dress, with a dull-looking apron around her waist. She wiped her eyes and smiled weakly, "I didn't know you'd come soon…" she turned and stood aside, "Please come in…" He smiled back, the same sad smile, and followed her inside with Kathryn right behind. "I brought your mail." he said. "Your box was full, Mrs Nightshade." he handed over the thick stack of curled envelopes and she thanked him, insisting that they just call her Lee, short for Leslie.

She went to put it away in the kitchen and they followed. The hallway was a dark space, panelled in gloomy wood, old toys scattered everywhere. The kitchen was worse. It had a tiny window, glassed in with yellow reeded glass. There was a collection of freestanding units in the muddy dark veneer, and a curious old enamel appliances, speckled in mint greens and greys, standing up on short legs. The whole room smelled of warm oven, but it was clean and tidy. She put the stack of mail next to a mug on the counter. "Would you like a piece of chocolate cake?"

Kathryn glanced at the stove top. There was a china plate there, covered over with a worn linen cloth. "And some milk or coffee?" Lee offered. Next to the stove top was an a tall carton of milk placed on top of a fairy tale book. He nodded, "That would be lovely, thank you." he said. Kathryn smiled and nodded, and Lee nodded back with a contented smile, pleased. She led them through the hallway to a small room heavily furnished with armchairs and sofas and glass-fronted chest-high cabinets filled with china ornaments and shelves containing photographs. Opposite the sofa was a television. It was turned on and there was some kind of health show thing on. "I'll be right back…" Lee said and she swished slowly out of the room. Kathryn and Spence sat down in the silence, in small armchairs. Somehow, Spence found the show interesting…_of course he would, he's a friggin' doctor._ Kathryn thought-----

Interviewer, Cliff Curtis: "Are there any bone complications?"

Dr. Tina Young: "Yes. Absolutely. When lung cancer spreads to the bone it can cause severe pain and weak bones. But these bone complications can be treated and even prevented, making life a little easier for the person with lung cancer. Skeletal complications arise in any cancer really from hemtogenous spread of disease, which means cells breaking off from a primary tumor site and traveling through the blood stream, which enables them really to travel anywhere. For reasons that are really not clear to the cancer community, the bone is a very common site for cancers to spread--"

Dr. Norville Nielsen: "--If the disease has spread to the bone, then the goal of therapy is palliative care to minimize the complications of the disease and minimize the side effects of both the disease and the therapy. So, basically, the first sign that cancer has spread into the bones is…well…pain."

Cliff Curtis: "What happens when cancer gets worst? Do they…throw up?"

Dr. Tina Young: "That is likely to happen. I remember a person with lung cancer throwing up blood when I was a child. The pain is usually described as a persistent nagging, gnawing moderate or severe discomfort in one particular site of the body. The most important therapy that is almost always used for treatment of pain related to lung cancer metastatic to the bone, is opioid analgesia. Those are the pain medications like morphine and its derivatives--"

Dr. Norville Nielsen: "--One of the systemic treatments available are is a class of drugs called bisphosphonates. These are drugs that are available primarily intravenously, but also orally and that are commercially available and approved, indicated for metastatic lung cancer to the bone."

Cliff Curtis: "…what if the treatment fails?"

Dr. Tina Young: "…well…everybody wants a miracle. They will always try and try to fight a battle they can't win."

Cliff Curtis: "Okay. So, I'm in my early-thirties…say, I just found out I had cancer. How much years would I have left?"

Dr. Tina Young: "Not years…"

Dr. Norville Nielsen: "…**months**."-----

**Months...**

* * *

Lee called from the hallway, she was on her way back into the room with a silver tray. There was a matching china set stacked on it, cups and saucers and plates, with a medium-sized milk jug and a sugar bowl. The linen cover was off the platter, revealing a delightful looking sponge cake with pink icing. An old percolator was there, smelling of coffee. 

"_Not a lot_." Spence said softly as the commercial started and Lee poured coffee into a cup, her thin wrist quivering with effort.

"How do you like it, Ms. Royals?"

"Milk, and one teaspoon of sugar, please." Kathryn said. Lee poured the coffee into a cup, her thin wrist quivering with the effort. The cup rattled in its saucer as she passed it across. She followed it with a quarter of the cake on a plate. Kathryn thanked her and Lee smiled before passing a glass of milk and a plate of cake to Spencer. She put the tray down on the small coffee table and settled in her armchair with a cup of coffee. "I thought I had everything." she said suddenly, her eyes clouded with tears and sadness. "I had the perfect husband. The perfect kids. Even the perfect house…He was just so happy. I didn't know he was sick…" she turned away and ran her glance along the line of photographs, "I didn't know he did all those things he did."

The room went quiet, like an observance. "I mean, we were just so happy…" she broke down into tears and Kathryn watched her with sympathy. Spence, with understanding. She wiped her eyes and apologized, "I'm so sorry. It's just that…Ever since the accident, he seemed more troubled. He couldn't sleep. He was always smoking…and…he would drink. I understand why…"

"What accident?" Kathryn asked.

Lee sipped on her coffee and swallowed hard, while wiping her eyes. "She was wonderful. She was so graceful, and she always wanted to help people." she looked up and met Spencer's eyes, she smiled and laughed slightly, "She wanted to be a doctor, you know. Dan couldn't talk her out of it. She already knew what she wanted to do, regardless of stress. She was a very smart kid…her siblings loved her to bits…" she glanced down at the carpet and her smile faltered, "…she was only eight-years old when it happened."

"What happened, Lee?" Kathryn asked again, while Spence remained quiet, watching and staring at the TV as the show came back on. Lee shrugged sadly, "Car accident…she was at a friends house and the mother was going to take her back before dinner. And there was this…drunk…and he crashed right at her car…they fell in the river and…and…" she started sobbing uncontrollably, and Kathryn put her hand on top of hers, patting it in a comforting way. Katy didn't need an explanation. She could already guess what had happened and she couldn't possibly imagine what had happened next. "I'm sorry." she whispered and Lee tried with great effort to stop the waterworks. Kathryn would have settled for just that but Lee continued on…

"He started getting calls from his stepfather. But it would always end the same way…"---

"Look, I don't care what you fucking want. Just…just…back off, you bastard!" he slammed the phone down and stood there, staring at it angrily.

"…and then, he would get more and more calls…he would either cry or drink himself to sleep every night…he would go out and come back home in the middle of the night and I would always find him passed out in the living room. I didn't know what happened, but one day, he just decided--"

"I want a divorce, Leslie." he said firmly.

"Your…your going to leave _me?" She choked out as tears flowed from her eyes. _

"I…"

"But why_? What's _wrong_ with me?" _

"Nothing's wrong with you, Lee."

"THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU LEAVING ME?"

"Because I love you…"

leave whywrong 

"He left me."---

"And then I asked help from your mother." She swallowed hard and a long silence passed between them.

"What did you want my mother to do?"

"…I wanted her to find him."

* * *

After that, the children had come home at last, exhausted from their day at the beach with their cousin, whom Leslie had trusted enough to take her children while she talked to her visitors. And as soon as the cousin had left, they were all silent in the living room. The children were playing and watching cartoons in their safe little corner, with Spencer, while the two women sat still in their seats. After the children came home, Leslie was done talking. She just turned and fixed misty gazes on the row of photographs on the mantel and Kathryn was left sitting in the silence. "Will you help me then? Will you help…_us_?" Lee asked through the silence, turning back only to look at her children who were giggling and playing with Spence. 

"You bet."

The children managed to tear their eyes off the television and made it down to the hallway to see them leave. Leslie rustled along beside them, her skirt brushing both door jambs and both sides of the narrow passageway. Spence was absolutely silent the whole time, and Kathryn was starting to get worried. It wasn't like him at all. Whatever mood he had, he always came up with a comment with more or less sweetness in it. It was either that, or something life threatening. "It was a pleasure to meet you and your wonderful kids," Kathryn said, smiling wistfully, "Thank you…for the coffee and cake. And I'm very sorry about your situation."

Lee made no reply. It was a hopeless thing to say. Years of agony, and she was sorry about their situation? She just turned and shook her frail hand and stepped back outside on to their overgrown path.

Spencer really wouldn't talk to her, ever since they came in the living room. He wouldn't't even look at her. She only came up with one solution on why…but it couldn't't be. What if he actually remembered what she had said last night? And that he's just hiding it, pretending as if nothing has ever happened? He _can't _love her. Maybe he was just really drunk. All she knew was that she wasn't going to be hurt again, not by _him_…not by anyone else. She tried to distract herself from thinking about him and tried to think more about the 'situation'. Maybe they should try going to the cops, try to get a little more information about the crimes Nightshade committed. Why he did it. How. Things like that. She tried to recall the name of the officer that was in charge of Daniel's case but she had forgotten. And she didn't even want to ask Spence about it, she thought as they rode the motorbike down the road.

But she so wanted to talk to him, and as she thought more about it. She remembered those hurtful words she had said, _"This feeling your feeling right now is just an illusion…so don't think much about it."_ But it hurt her. The things he said. Did he really mean what he said? Or was it just the beer talking? She couldn't afford to be hurt again. She wanted to cry but she knew she couldn't. What if? What if? Dammit, what if! But she knew…oh, she knew…that he was going to pack up and leave once this is over, if ever. She needed to make the most of it. "Where are we going?"

"To the cops." he said with a cough. Was he sick?

Of course he is, dear. Ask him yourself. He can't deny it.

"What was the man's name? The man in charge of Nightshade's case?"

Long silence…

"…King."


	16. Flesh Into Gear

Okay, really...This chapter should be called, "Stalling for time" because, well...I am...lol. This is Kathryn's memory, her Point of view of how they met...well, they've met before but they weren't that close. They were just buddies...but this was when they were REALLY CLOSE buddies. Okay, I'm not making sense and I don't get it, too. So yeah...My cousin laughed at this. Thought it was weird and funny. Eh...

**TiggieSpencer: **Ooh. Ahh...Lol. You reviewed all of the chapters! Wow. Someone has a lotta time on their hands...lol. Oh, there was this lil quiz at school where we had to study a subject and they would ask us stuff. I studied lung cancer. It's nice how you quote everything, lol.

**WHATtheF: **Aww...yeah. That sucks but..yeah...Wait a second--YOUR Spence! lol. Just kiddin.

**

* * *

**

**SIXTEEN**

**Ever wonder how we met? Sure, I met him when I was a little girl…sure, we became friends but that was a long time ago. People forget. I recall in fact, that I referred to my ex-best friend when I was three, "that little girl with ponytails." But that's not important…What's important is, he left. **

**He had to. I don't blame him. **

**And then, we met again…for the first time…**

So here I am on my very first day at College, 'The Kit Kat Girl in her horrible new blue uniform, running away down a slippery endless corridor looking for a loo. Under less desperate circumstances I wound ask directions from another girl about my age, or failing that an older girl or female teacher, a male teacher, a younger male student, or as a last resort, an older male student. Now, I don't care. The very real prospect of the Kit Kat Girl dumping in her pants on the first day at school has removed all the shame. I whiz, slide, skid around another sharp corner.

"Excuse me, toilet." I demand to the first human being I see. "Toilet. The _nearest_ girl's toilet."

"Well, the name's Spencer, but toilet seems okay."

"Sorry," I apologise. I would've laughed but I really needed this one. I'd get down on my knees and beg if I had to. Wait…did he just say 'Spencer'? _The_ Spencer? Oh, just my luck. I change schools trying to avoid a crazy obsessed guy only to move to another with the love of my life. But what were the odds of that? Maybe it _wasn't_ Spencer, maybe it was just another guy carrying the same surname. "The nearest toilet is miles away, but you're in luck. Come with me. I just happen to have the keys." Guy with same surname said. He could be a very young teacher or an older male student. He's carrying a huge untidy bunch of keys and shouldering a heavy burden of what looks like video gear.

"If your new," he says unlocking a nearby door, 'then you need to know this is the drama and video production suite. Hell, as I would call it…but there's a loo in hell."

I laughed softly. The drama suite. This was a place at my old school I had always deliberately avoided. First, because kindly English and drama teachers assumed that because her mother was a 'performer', then jolly Katy had to be, too. Second, only size eights went in there, as normally screwed-up females. They came out moodier than ever, talking loudly because they were ac-tors and therefore superior to everybody. They had a scary fun 'finding their inner truth'. They did improvisation and sexy physical exercises, with lots of shouting and rolling round the floor. They took risks. I would have given anything to take a risk or two myself, but the risk felt like open-heart surgery without an anaesthetic and the drama suite at that school was no place for me.

Except that, my urgent visit to the loo accomplished in the nick of time, I am now inside a drama and video production suite with a strange male. There was no sign of him when I finished my business so I will tiptoe quietly out of this big carpeted area. There's no need to fuss around with thanks. Then my training in niceness kicks in. Boy, am I well trained! A door to a small office is open and a light is on inside. I poke my head in. "Um -- thanks."

"How good are your eyes?"

"What?"

"**Lara** swore the book was on these shelves. I love her dearly, and she's a great and creative director but Jesus, this office is something else. Hey…" he snapped his fingers to get my attention, then he gestures around the mess, looking very unsure. "…Can you see a big ugly book called _Directing for Community Theatre _in this uh…" he picked up a sock that was on top of a pile of books and made a face before looking at it curiously then throwing it anywhere. "…mess."

I decide he's definitely an older male student and begin looking in books of plays, magazine, boxes of photos and yellowed newspaper clippings. There's no order at all, just a horrible clutter and dust which looks as though it's been there forever. "What's community theatre?" I ask.

"It's what I've just been told I'm going to be co-directing. With **Lara**." He said, lifting a box of photos and magazines. "Oh the joy…" he says sarcastically as he walks over to me and puts the box down beside the chair I was sitting on. I can feel a sneeze coming on.

"You can use whatever resources are available. Dance, song, music, poetry, mime, cursed puppets, stilt walkers, physical theatre, you name it."

"Sounds fun." I lie. He didn't look like he was having much fun…he didn't look convinced eith-- _a-choo! _"Sorry about that. It's the dust."

"Well, bless ya then." He says."Do you get hay fever?"

"No. what do you do for a script?"

"We write it. It's multimedia, multicultural, multitalent, multi-everything. Ah hell, I'm almost beginning to convince myself it's a good idea." he looks at me and smiles warmly. How do they do that? The way they make you laugh and squeal with joy with you not even feeling your up to smiling. It's a mystery to me…I smile back. "Are you into drama?" he asks, resuming with his work. I look at him sideways to check if he's taking the piss, but he's squinting at the titles on an upper shelf.

"Um - no."

"Why not?" he asks. Then, he flashed me another smile. "You're the prettiest little thing I've ever seen. You oughta give it a try." I was sure my face was so red now and there was another thing I was sure of…that I was ready to run out of the room. "Thanks." I say, shyly. It seemed appropriate.

"New here?"

"Yep."

"Hating it?"

"You bet." And then I can't help myself. "How can _anyone_ operate in this _shambles_? Is that what you want?" I hold out the book I have been hiding for the past twenty minutes. I know it seemed a little…silly, but if you had feelings for someone you didn't really know, you'd do it too. Just to spend a little more time with him. I am rewarded by a smile of pure, heart-warming gold. "Way to go, pretty eyes." he says, taking the book from me. Butterflies formed around my stomach. And all of a sudden, the world seemed brighter.

"Name?"

"Katy Royals. Short for Kathryn."

"D'Angelo Spencer." He holds out his hand and we shake formally. My eyes widen at the mention of the name. It _was_ him. I can't believe it. It's him! And I felt the butterflies swarm around my stomach, ready to burst out. But instead, (even though Tasmania was trying to crawl up my throat) I registered the smile, now I register the brown eyes, the spiky dark brown hair, the plain black t-shirt, black jeans and bare feet. Wait a minute…he doesn't remember me! But I don't blame him, what's special to remember? I'm probably just some bimbo to him.

"You from Knoxville, Tennessee?" I ask. Or maybe he's just got global exotic good looks. Whatever, he's a knockout. Amongst the theatrical clutter of this tiny office I suddenly feel very pathetic and schoolgirlish. My old school uniform had been a designer label, costing megabucks. It looked great on all those up to size 12. What I'm wearing now looks ghastly on absolutely everyone - a drab blue check skirt, white polyester shirt (not tucked in) and roman sandals. "_You_…have a gift, Ms. Royals." he grins. I take that as a yes.

"Thanks." I say. But I bet anything he doesn't even like me. I bet he's just being nice to the Kit Kat girl. I have no chance with him…

"And you're not into drama?"

"Nope."

"What about the production side? If you don't like mess, you might have good organisational skills. I'm going to need those cos I'm too lazy to do it myself. Interested?" When every bone in my body wants to say _Thank you! _for even thinking of me and _Yes! I'd love to help, _I mumble instead as I always do, "I…sorry, don't think so."

"That's too bad," he says, indicating we are leaving, "If you change your mind…no wait!" He's staring at a pile of video gear he's dropped in the middle of the carpeted space. "Katy, there's something you can do for me. Could you stay a little while longer?"

I hear myself saying okay, and I feel myself going hot and cold when he says what he wants is to test drive a video camera that is supposed to have been fixed over the holidays. He could just shoot some solid object like say, that upright piano, but a real body's better, to check close-up focus and sound. Just sit over there by the window, and perhaps just sight-read something out of a book. Would I mind? He could go and get one of the drama people, but frankly, that means the whole lunch gone and he has double lessons with a new teacher straight after lunch.

How could I refuse the guy I've always wanted to 'supposedly' marry ever since I was six? Perched on a stool, watching him setting up the tripod and the camera, his unhurried, deliberate, absolutely controlled way of moving around, I couldn't believe I was doing this. I've had practically no pictures of me taken, of any kind, for over a year. So what the hell am I doing perched here on a stool, breaking all my rules, while the most gorgeous man I've ever met trains a video camera on me? He is, though, looking at something else. Outside the window, in a small enclosed courtyard, a boy is being bullied. At least I suppose that's what is happening. I'm new to this scene. They never did this at my old school. But of course, my old school was a rich school. We only changed to this school because dad…because dad was broke again. He had spent too much on his wife, my step-mom, Janie.

The kid was a dumpy little Asian boy with spiky hair and round glasses, who's being used for target practice. Apples, clumps of earth, small stones, empty cans…a dart. "Wait here." he says, his mood slightly changing and his voice a serious tone. Then, he's out into the blazing midday sun and has yanked the boy to his feet. His uniform shirt is so crisply new it still has square crease marks across it. Spence looks at the leader and the leader gulps, frozen on the spot. Spence puts the dart in his pocket, takes the second dart from an astonished hand and then picks up the rest of the missiles and chucks them at a rubbish container.

Then, I watch as he hauls the little Asian across the courtyard and back inside. Yelping slightly in some language I wouldn't know, he twists his plump arm out of Spence's grasp and takes off. Ungrateful little sod. I watch as Spence bends over the camera, fiddling with the controls, breathing only a little more heavily than usual. I caught my breath on his next word. "Beautiful." I couldn't believe it. He still hasn't changed. He still cared and it reached out to my heart in a way. I saw him differently than some people. I saw him as a sweet, caring person with a big heart. Others saw him as a mean, scary ass.

"Pardon?" I ask.

He looks up at me and smiles warmly. "Your smile."

I feel myself going redder and redder. "I don't suppose you…" I stutter, shrugging lamely when he looked at me. Red. Red. Red. Blush. Blush. Blush. "…you remember me, do you?" I ask, laughing slightly as if it was a silly question. But my voice cracked and that proved I didn't really think it was so silly. He smiles, "Of course I remember you. How can I forget you, Boo-boo? I mean, your not just some bimbo. You were my friend." It was silly for me to think that he could be so shallow, and I felt a little guilt right then, too. I smile at him. "I'm glad you came back." I say quietly. He just smiles at me. I love him.

But it wasn't over yet. The bully boys have spotted me on my perch and are dancing round on the other side of the window, pulling faces, waddling round like pregnant women, hurling abuse through the glass. Spence straightens up and looks over at the window just as the leader is poised to hurl a sizeable clump of earth my way, glass or not. There's a moment of silent eye-contacting challenge. The leader then looks away and throws the clod well below the window as the others slink off and he's left looking stupid. The leader then rolls his eyes then gives us the finger before turning away to follow the others. I sigh with relief. I was glad he went. But Spence didn't seem satisfied. He walks over to the window, grabbing an apple as he passed a table. He opens one of the windows and yells, "Gareth!"

The leader whirls around, opening his mouth to retort and just as he does, Spence flings the apple at his mouth. I gasp and I watch through my window, as the leader falls flat on his big fat ass. "I don't know how to say this politely but…FUCK YOU! And I swear to god, if you mess with her I will personally take care of you so that you'll have to walk sideways for the rest of your life!" He then shuts the window. He said that…for me. Aww. I know it sounds stupid but…nobody has ever stood up for me in that way. 'Always solve it by talking to them first, Katie.' they would always say, but I've been doing that my whole life and it's never worked! And I never ever had the guts to stand up for myself. "Thanks." He walks over to the camera with a faint smile. I suppose the camera is running; there's no noise, only a tiny red light. I feel myself going redder and redder, wishing I'd sat up straighter, and wishing my whole self anywhere else on the planet other than sitting here being used for target practice using film instead of stones.

"That's great," says Spence, straightening up. "Stay there." Like a well-trained dog, I stay. He glides into the office and comes out with a book, he licks his thumb and flicks the pages. He reads something quietly. "Huh…" he holds up the front of the book. "Can you just read something from this. It's the first thing I found."

"I can't read Shakespeare." I say.

"It's only for sound levels…"

"Sorry." I start to tremble. Maybe it's delayed reaction from having a clod of earth threatened at me. He chucks the book down on the floor. "O-kay. Just tell me about yourself then." he says casually. Which was worse. "Your new here," he prompts. "New to LA?"

"Yes. You'll have to get someone else for this. I…I have to go…" I say nervously.

A scream from the doorway, "Spencer, darling!"

"Like her. She'll be perfect," I say, impressed by my own newfound ability to get a word in edgeways. "Absolutely, fabulously perfect." There she stands in the doorway, the _ac-tor_. Black leggings, skimpy crop-top, black boots even though it's over thirty degrees outside, arms outstretched. True to type, she clomps across the carpet for a massive and noisy hug. Do I detect a wink my way as he is embraced, an amused look that says, see what I have to put up with?

"Absolutely fab to see you, Spencer," she burbles. "Gorgeous and talented and enigmatic as ever." she kisses him on the cheek and winks and he laughs adorably, "What's the production this year, then? Part for me? Ooh, sorry, I see your busy. So sorry."

"No he's not," I say quickly. "I'm just casual target practice and I'm leaving." This girl was much more outgoing and elegant. Posh. Greeaaattt. Another obstacle. "Sophia, This little filly is joining the production team," he says, putting his hand lightly on my shoulder. Is he a friend, a control freak, a sleaze? Is this sexual harassment? I don't know what I think. I get the full pixie smile, even though it was obvious I had no idea what he was talking about. "Right?" he asks, looking down at me with a smile.

"No, you don't want me." My niceness training kicks in and I add, "Excuse me. Gotta run. Thanks for your help, before." He smiled faintly, and not every ounce of it touched his eyes. I didn't want to go and yet, I wanted to go. He hates me. I really am just some piece of ass to him. "Thank you for yours," he calls at my departing fat ass. No, really now. I'm not fat-- I'm pissed. I hate myself for not being a girl. Like capital Barbie over there. I'm probably not good enough for him. "Think about it." he says.

I have, mate, for all of ten seconds and the answer's still no.

****

I never had a chance…

…never will.


	17. Strike one

SEVENTEEN

Before he had left to buy 'food' (junk cough junk) , Spencer was nice (not lazy) enough to prepare actual food for her. She never really understood why Spence wanted to eat first. He never really cared if it wasn't the kind that would make you drunk. But he _did _look stressed. Maybe he just needed to relax. _Oh shut up, 'Kit Kat' and let it go. Stop being stupid. So what if he wanted to eat? He's only human…it's not as if he's _**dying**_ or anything._

Kathryn sat down to it as she held the phone firmly in her left hand, her brother rattling on about his day. She smiled at the food prepared for her…_hoping it wasn't poisoned_. If there's one thing you need to know about Spence, it's that you never trust him. Not with your home. Not with your pet. Not with your money…

Not with your heart.

On a saran-wrapped plate, smoked salmon and cream cheese were flanked by rings of onion sliced so thin it would make a tissue envious. A poppy-seed bagel waited in the toaster. Reaching over, she pushed the lever down and watched the coils flare to orange. The smell relaxed her a little bit. Who knew Spence could cook? The two soon hung up and Kathryn was left sitting alone by herself, picking at her food.

I love you is eight letters long, but then again, so is BULLSHIT!

* * *

**--- **He had the counter guy put four shots in a cardboard cup and sat the chromium table Kathryn had used when he was checking the apartment a few nights back. What to tell my step-brother's wife? The only humane thing to do would be to go up there and tell her nothing at all. Just tell her he had drawn a blank. Just leave it completely vague. It would be a kindness. Just go up there, hold her hand, break the news, refund their money, and then describe a long and fruitless search backward through history that ended up absolutely nowhere. Then plead with her to accept he must be long dead, and beg her to understand nobody would ever be able to tell her where or when or how. Then disappear and leave her to live out the short balance of her life with whatever dignity she could find in being just two out of the tens of millions of wives who gave up their husbands to the night and the fog swirling through a ghastly century.

Yeah. Fucking brilliant, Spence.

He sipped his way through the coffee, with his left hand clenched on the table in front of him. He would lie to them, but out of kindness. Spencer had no great experience of kindness. It was a virtue that had always run parallel to his life. He had never been in the sort of position where it counted for anything. He had never drawn duty breaking bad news to relatives. Not even at the hospital, or the very few years he had been a cop _and _a convicted felon. He had always managed to weasel himself out of this one. It was one thing he had never even thought of doing. Now, two years after leaving the Nightstalkers, kindness was suddenly a factor in his life. And it would make him lie.

But he would_ find Daniel_.

would. 

He unclenched his hand and stared at it. At the cracked plastic container with no label.

Take one, honey. It'll take away all the pain…

--Like a bullet to your brain--

Lungs filled with air. Inhale. Exhale. All gone…

Just take one. Easy kill. No pain…

Take the easy way out…

He held the pill with his thumb and his index finger, staring at it.

****

Come on, you know you want to…

_

* * *

_

At one point in the past few minutes, the waitress noticed his eyes glaze over, almost as though he was going to faint. At another point, she took note of the fact that he had his face buried in his arm, his left hand clenched in front of him, terrible wheezing and coughing being muffled by his arm. Getting terribly worried, she asked him, "Are you all right sir?" she said kindly, putting a hand on his shoulder. The man didn't bother to look up and kept still, crushing an empty bottle of flavoured water in his hand. "I'm…no…I'm…" he sighed heavily, "I'm fine. I'm just stressed." he replied.

"Would you like a glass of water?" she asked, her eyes glazing over to the empty plastic container on the table.

"No."

"I hope you feel better, sir." The waitress said sympathetically.

"I hope so too." **---**

Outside the shabby inner-city building where the police were, I hop off the motorbike after Spencer, he was halfway there when he collapses. Just goes limp, and falls on the concrete. His head makes a faint cracking noise, hollow, like when you hit a coconut. I tried to catch him but it was too late, he was too far away. I look at him stupidly for a moment, then run towards him, all the while, screaming his name in panic. There was no one walking around, no cars in the alley. I scream for help. I couldn't leave him, and I couldn't just magically make a 6' 1 guy float in mid-air towards the station. Fuck!

I didn't know what to do. I bend down and a sensible voice tells me he's not dead, another voice says he's dead, chanting it inside my head and all I wanted to do at that very moment was kill that little voice. I look around, my heart racing, Tasmania trying to crawl up my throat. There's even a cat mewing at me, and rubbish bins. I half expect to get ambushed by a guy with a gun. I hold him in my arms and slap him gently, silently talking to him, "Come on, Spence. Talk to me, Spence. Talk to me please."

I stared at him while my guts turned to liquid nitrogen and all the heat in my body rushed to my eyelids. Words writhed around inside my head, taunting, the ice in my guts stabbing me. Just then, Tasmania sprouted into volcanoes and the inside of my head filled up with molten lava. _It's not true…he's not dead… _

Well, I can't feel a pulse, honey.

…He's not dead…

That's right, keep telling yourself that…

…No…your lying…he's not dead…

Strike one. A miss. Tsk, tsk, tsk…lost your dad…

…No…he's not gone…

Strike two! A miss. Lost your mom…

No! SHUT UP!

And…BAM! Strike three! He's outta here!

--- "Tell me," says Spencer, all amused, "What made you change your mind?" It had taken me until after school to decide…and five seconds till I came running back in. Just after Capital Barbie left from an audition. I scoff. An audition. Yeaahh, right. I bet she wanted _more_ than a freaking audition.

"It's…the mess."

"What mess?" He looks around at the drama suite as he puts on a sneaker. I'd found out from the school notices that here, after school, he was interviewing people interested in the production. Hence, Capital Barbie. I'd read a book under a tree for an hour until the school was empty and all the others had gone home. No…well…actually, I was _pretending_ to read a book, while rehearsing what I was going to say to him. Somewhere along the lines off, "Will you marry me?"

"Muddle," I say, but he hasn't understood.

"This is quite normal," he chuckles. I love his smile…his laugh…I just loved everything. "I know Lara's office is over the top but…"

"It's not just the office, Spence. It's everything."

"Life's messy." He says with a shrug, resuming what he had been doing two minutes ago. Push ups. Life's messy. Well, I agree with you on that one, pal. Dammit, Katy, will you get it out of the way? I mumble on, "This is the only organized thing I can count on. Everything's been such a wreck."

"I know how that feels." he says, sounding bitter. And being the nosy person that I am, I wanted to know why. He gets up and rakes his fingers through his hair, before whistling the tune of 'Bloody Mary Morning' by Willie Nelson. How do I know? I love Willie Nelson. I think he's cool. "So…" he says after the tune finished. "…what kinda job are you aimin' for, darlin?" he asked, in that roughly nice voice of his, as he sat down on the chair, propping his feet up on the table. I tilted my head and thought, _Damn, he looks good with aviator glasses…_He started to whistle again and that caught my attention.

I shrugged lamely and said, "Lawyer. I guess…I mean, I hope. You?"

He throws a tennis ball at the wall-- _thunk _--catches it. Throws it-- _thunk _--catches it. Then, finally he shrugs. "Doctor…but everyone says I should be a cop or something."

I stride over to a chair and sit down, pretending to look busy reading a confusing Shakespeare book, "You should. After standing up for me like that. Thanks a lot."

He turns to me and grins, "Well don't stress yourself, I'm still on duty."

We exchange a smile and the he stands up and sits down on the chair across from me. I gave him a curious look and he starts to laugh, shaking his head. I guess I looked pretty confused because he starts to grin. He leans over and puts both his hands on my knees. I gulp. Here are my options: A) I run out of here as fast as I can B) I run out of here as fast as I can and C)…I run out of here as fast as I can! He then glances down at my lap where the open book lay. "You said you can't read Shakespeare."

I suddenly felt comfortable under his touch and I know it might sound… 'daft', but I guess…I…I……

"I love you." I said, my voice cracking as I stared. He looks up from the book and stares at me.

"_What?_"

"_Nothing!_"

Sure as hell don't sound like nothin'---

--- Top 5 reasons Spence wasted his time with me:

5. He likes me.

4. He had nothing better to do.

3. He just wanted to make up for leaving when we were kids.

2. He felt sorry for the Kit Kat girl.

1. He likes me? ---

_

* * *

_

Still no movement.

Still no pulse.

Just then, a sleek midnight-blue Mercedes rounded up the corner. I could see it easily but Tasmania wouldn't allow me to scream, no matter how much I wanted to. No matter how much…I needed to. I put my fingers in my mouth and blew three of my loudest whistles. Until finally, the car came to a halt, and a tall cop stepped out, looking down at the lifeless body I was holding, in disbelief. His eyes wide in silent terror,

"_Spence…_"

Inhale…

Exhale…

…**All gone.**

There's ten thousand reasons to survive…

…you only need one to die


End file.
